


A Call for Help

by georges1982_96



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, Mild Language, Rape, Rape/Non-con References, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-23 03:07:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/georges1982_96/pseuds/georges1982_96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John forced Sam to play soccer because he thought it would teach him to obey orders and get him to spend time with people other than Dean and Castiel. He trusts the coach, an old friend of Bobby's, to whip Sam into shape.Sam suddenly starts to lash out, pushing Dean and Cas away as they become more concerned and suspicious, terrified of them discovering his secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first story on here ever, so don't hesitate to let me know if I did anything wrong!
> 
> This story will focus on Sam and Dean's brotherly relationship, but the romantic pairing is Sam/Cas. They will hopefully feature equally as the story goes on.
> 
> OVERALL WARNINGS: slash, childhood sexual abuse (not explicit), physical abuse, mentions of homophobia, language, violence
> 
> I will be doing individual warnings for chapters as well.
> 
> I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters within.
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: language (maybe?), slash, mentions of physical abuse
> 
> I hope you guys like it!

John Winchester stumbled through the front door of the small apartment and dropped his overnight bags on the kitchen table, sinking into a chair gratefully. He rubbed his tired eyes and sighed softly, listening for movement within the tiny apartment.

He glanced up when heavy footsteps plodded from the bedroom and came to a stop right next to him. He took the offered two pills of Advil from Dean's palm and swallowed them without waiting for Dean to get him a glass of water. His head was pounding.

"Thanks, Dean," John sighed and leaned back in the chair, arching and cracking his back. "Long trip."

"I know," Dean raised his eyebrows and took a seat across from John, his voice low and gruff. John rubbed the back of his neck, rolling his shoulders, and took a moment to examine his eldest son. Dean had filled out almost completely at eighteen years old; he was broad-shouldered and well-muscled. Probably a hit with the girls at school, John mused, his eyes flickering from Dean's bright green eyes to the dusting of freckles on his nose.

John blinked and pulled himself out of his musings when he realized Dean was still speaking, "You missed Sammy's first soccer game."

"Dean, don't start with me," John snapped, sensing where this was going. He wasn't ready to argue with Dean about Sam and his stupid abandonment issues. John kept him clothed and fed, put a roof over his head; it's not like he didn't love the kid. It wasn't his fault he had to travel for work and miss a few soccer games here and there. "I had to go on this trip. It took longer than I expected. It's not my fault."

"You're the one who made him try out in the first place," Dean continued, pursing his lips and rubbing the bridge of his nose irritably. "He hates it, he can't stand his coach. He's just doing it to make you happy."

"He needs to learn to follow orders, and if I can't teach him, Lester Prose can," John retorted sharply, his tone indicating he wasn't going to continue this conversation. "Bobby and him go way back, he puts a lot of stock in the guy's methods and opinions, and that's good enough for me."

Dean humph-ed discontentedly, but didn't say anything else. He rested his chin in his hands and gazed out the window blankly, kicking his feet back and forth under the table absentmindedly, scuffing them against the peeling linoleum floor.

"Where's Sam?" John suddenly realized he didn't hear Sam moving around in the bedroom or bathroom; the rest of the apartment was completely silent.

"He went out," Dean replied, tensing almost imperceptibly. He stopped swinging his feet and his hands clenched into fists for a moment before he forced them to relax again, hoping John hadn't noticed.

He had. John raised an eyebrow and smirked softly. "Since when does Sam 'go out' on Saturday nights?"

"He's sixteen," Dean shrugged, leaning back on two legs of his chair. John shot him with a warning look and Dean rolled his eyes before dropping all four chair legs back to the floor again. "It's only ten o' clock. He just went to the library with Cas to study. They've got some big History test tomorrow."

"Cas?" John repeated, pursing his lips and twitching his eyebrows with distaste. "The kid who lives out in the woods with the thirteen siblings?"

"Cas, my best friend, Cas," Dean snapped irritably. John had never liked Cas; he'd always thought Cas was a freak because of his siblings (who were notorious in town for being strictly religious and constantly arguing with each other in public). John wasn't even around enough to ever have really gotten to know Cas, even though Cas had been practically living at their house since he and Dean were seven years old. Dean hated when John pretended that Cas wasn't the best and only friend Dean ever had, after all the years Cas had been there for both Dean and Sam.

"When will Sam be home?" John demanded, his headache throbbing more painfully. He rubbed his temples and winced slightly. "I want to talk to him before he goes to bed."

"Should be any minute," Dean replied, standing up and stretching. He glanced at the clock, desperate to get John out of the kitchen before Sam came home. The window had a perfect view of the parking lot, and he didn't want John to see Cas drop Sam off. "Hey, can you come help me with-?"

John held up a hand to shush him when the sound of the engine of Castiel's clunky, beat up pickup truck came into the parking lot and drifted in through the half-open window. John moved to look out over the parking lot as Sam climbed out of the passenger's side of the truck. Cas slipped out of his truck and met Sam around the front of the hood. They spoke softly for a few moments, too softly for John to make out the words. He took the time to look Sam over, evaluating how Sam had physically changed in the past month. Sam had grown another two inches or so since John had gone away. He was wearing hand me down jeans that used to be John's and he fit into them well, testifying to how much he'd grown. His hair flopped into his wide eyes as he talked to Castiel, and he had a small, genuine smile on his face. His hands dug deep into his pockets and he leaned one hip on the hood of the truck.

Sam looked like his mother. Same eyes, same waves in his hair, same soft smile. It hurt John to look at him sometimes; all he could see was Mary.

John's eyes narrowed when Castiel's hand strayed to Sam's waist and curled around his hip. He expected Sam to bat him off, but instead, Sam shifted closer to Castiel, his smile widening a little.

"Dean," John said lowly, beckoning Dean over to the window. Dean stood by his shoulder and peered around him to see the parking lot from the window. "Is there something you and Sam wanted to tell me?"

"What?" Dean asked innocently, looking for all the world like he had no idea what his father was talking about. Cas's hand could be dismissed as a friendly gesture, so long as he didn't do anything else.

Dean prayed that Cas and Sam, just this one time, wouldn't kiss goodnight like they always did, even if they had no way of knowing John had gotten home early. Maybe, just maybe, they could keep this from their Dad for just a little longer.

Sam laughed at something Cas said and Cas smiled up at him for a moment before pulling Sam close by his hips and pressing their lips together. Sam automatically leaned down so Cas didn't have to be on tiptoe to reach his lips, and slipped his arms around Cas's waist.

The kiss wasn't anything explicit, it was actually perfectly gentle and chaste, but judging by the noise that came out of John's mouth, they might as well have been going at it in the parking lot.

Sam and Cas drew apart, smiling goofily at each other. Cas brushed a strand of Sam's hair out of his eyes and said one more thing before Sam turned and headed towards the door to the apartment building. Cas leaned against the hood of his truck and watched Sam walk away, making sure he got inside okay. He crossed his arms over his chest and as his pale eyes followed Sam's progress across the parking lot, smiling softly to himself and touching his fingers to his bottom lip.

John shoved Dean out of the way and stormed over to the door of the apartment, crossing his arms and standing in the small foyer to block any chance of escape when Sam stepped inside.

Dean tugged on John's sleeve, desperate to get John to calm down marginally before he unleashed his wrath on Sam. Sam had been terrified of Dad finding out since he and Cas had started dating; he'd had nightmares about what Dad would say, what he would do, and they left Sam shaking and in tears at the thought of their father hating him. Dean could barely console him some nights. "Dad, c'mon, don't be mad. He was afraid of what you'd say, he didn't do it to—"

"Let me handle this, Dean," John said calmly, brushing Dean away easily and keeping his eyes on the door. "Go sit down in the living room."

Dean hesitated, looking his father over evaluatingly. John seemed suddenly collected and calm, his hands relaxed from where they'd been clenched into fists when he'd seen Cas kiss Sam. There was no way for Dean to stop this conversation from happening. The only thing he could do now was help Sam recover from their dad's disapproving words as best he could. "Dad, just…don't be too hard on him. He can't help it."

"I will take care of it, Dean," John said tersely, not looking back as Dean followed his order to go to the living room, confident his son would obey him. The lock turned in the door and Sam pushed it open without noticing his dad's looming frame in the front hall. He stepped inside, locked the door behind him, and turned to walk into the apartment, but stopped short when he came face to face with John.

Sam broke out into a smile when he saw John was home early. "Hi, Dad. I didn't think you'd be home until tomorrow." He was actually glad to see his dad. He'd called last week to tell them he was going to be gone longer than he thought originally, and Sam had felt disappointed, though he'd never say it out loud. He missed Dad when he was gone, he couldn't help it, and he knew it took a lot of pressure off Dean to take care of him when Dad was around.

"Good thing I came home early, or I wouldn't have found out about your little boyfriend," John said coolly, frowning at Sam, deep lines forming around his mouth. Sam's eyes widened and he went pale. He opened his mouth like he was going to speak, but no sound came out. John sighed and motioned to the kitchen table. "Sit down a minute, Sam."

He guided Sam over to the kitchen chair and pushed him down into it with a firm hand on his shoulder. He moved to stand on the other side of the table and crossed his arms, fixing Sam with a steady gaze. Sam shifted uncomfortably, wringing his hands in his lap and ducking his head so his hair fell into his eyes.

"I need you to listen to me without interrupting, Sam," John began quietly, keeping his voice low and calm. He had to get it through Sam's head that he wasn't mad at him, just concerned. He held up his hand when Sam opened his mouth to say something, cutting him off before the words could escape his lips. "I'm not mad. I'm just concerned, and a little disappointed."

"Disappointed?" Sam asked softly, hurt flashing through his dark eyes. "Dad, I—"

"Sam, I'm not finished," John snapped harshly, slamming hands on to tabletop in a moment of anger. Sam flinched and scooted his chair away from the table, tightening his arms around himself and regarding John with wide, nervous eyes. John let out a long breath and uncurled his fists, forcing himself to calm down when he saw the look in Sam's eyes; they were identical to Mary's, and the last thing John had ever wanted her to feel around him was fear. Sam deserved the same courtesy. "I'm sorry. I just want you to realize what you're setting yourself up for. People will treat you badly, they'll make fun of you, they'll try to hurt you for this. I can't protect you forever. You're making life more difficult for yourself."

"I know," Sam muttered, his hazel eyes flickering away from John and his hands clenching together tightly as he twisted his fingers together. "I know it won't be easy for us, but I…I care about him. I like him. A lot. I want to be with him."

John chewed on the inside of his cheek and nodded slowly, watching Sam fidget in the wooden chair. He pursed his lips and sighed, running a hand through his thick, short hair. "Okay. Don't come crying to me when he breaks your heart, Sam."

"He won't," Sam raised an eyebrow at John curiously, like he didn't understand how John could suggest anything like that. John felt a bitter smile tug at his lips, recalling the time when he'd thought loving Mary would never break his heart.

Honestly, John was praying this was just a phase Sam was going through, that he would move on from this guy as soon as possible. The last thing he needed was to be strung along by a mega religious freak who was probably having a sexuality crisis of his own.

"How long has this been going on?" John asked, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

Sam shrugged and chewed on his bottom lip. "A year or so."

John's jaw literally dropped with shock. A year? His baby had been in a relationship with another guy for a whole year and John hadn't noticed? Had he been away that much lately?

Sam looked up when John didn't say anything to gauge his reaction, uncertain of what John would do. "I…I wanted tell you. But I wasn't…I was…"

"I get it," John cut him off, rubbing his temples hard, trying to will away his pounding headache. "I think you need to maybe spend some time away from him to sort yourself out, decide if this is really what you want. Hopefully soccer will give you something to do besides think all the time."

Sam's lip curled at the mention of soccer, but John ignored it and pressed on. "This sport'll be good for you. It'll be good for you to make some new friends, meet some new people, find some kind of outlet."

Sam looked like he wanted to argue, but didn't speak up. His fingers dug into the hem of his jacket as he clutched the fabric in his hands. John pressed his lips together and sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I'm going to bed. Night, Sammy."

John plodded out of the kitchen and into the living room. Sam heard him and Dean exchange a few words, but didn't bother trying to listen in. He felt a confusing mixture of emotions in his chest; relief that he didn't have to hide this from his dad any more, and a horrible empty feeling at Dad's lack of a strong reaction. He hadn't been angry, he hadn't kicked Sam out, and Sam was grateful for that. But he hadn't really made Sam feel like he accepted it.

Please, Sam chastised himself, you sound like a brat. If Cas's family found out about me, they'd beat him half to death and disown him. Just because Dad didn't hug him and tell him it was okay, that he still loved him, that he was accepted…

Sam let out a small sound between a laugh and a sob. Since when had Dad ever told Sam he loved him? Maybe when Sam was little, before Mom had died in the fire. Dad would never say anything like that, neither would Dean; they were too strong, too obsessed with being stoic and "manly"…

Sam hadn't heard it from anyone since he was a baby until Cas had said it to him a month ago.

 

"C'mon, Cas, he didn't mean to," Sam held the now complacent cat in his arms and stroked his soft fur, grinning at Castiel's indignant expression. They'd been walking home when a cat had come flying out of nowhere and landed on Cas's back, dragging its claws down the back of Cas's worn flannel and leaving thin tears down the fabric.

Sam shifted the cat in his arms and slipped an arm around Cas's waist, squeezing Cas gently. "He was just scared." Sam could hear the deep barking of a dog from the other side of the old, crooked fence. He held the cat to him and rubbed its side with his thumb, trying to calm him down.

Cas put a hand to his chest and shook his head, rubbing the spot over his heart like he was trying to calm his racing heartbeat. "I…I was not expecting that."

"I don't think he was either," Sam removed his arm from Cas's waist so he was able to pet the cat easily. The cat slowly relaxed in Sam's arms and nuzzled against his chest. Sam smiled at him and rubbed his ears. "I know, you were just trying to get away. It's alright, Cas is just being mean, he doesn't mind. That dog can't get you now."

The cat licked Sam's fingers and wiggled out of his arms, landing on the sidewalk and arching his back. The cat casually strolled away down the street, the episode with the dog seemingly completely forgotten. Sam shrugged and returned his attention to Cas, who had slipped his flannel off to examine the damage.

There were fresh welts on Cas's arms, running up and down his forearms and disappearing under the sleeves of his loose t-shirt. His right wrist was rubbed raw from where he'd been handcuffed to the radiator by Michael for staying out past his curfew last week when he and Sam had been forced to wait out the rain at the library before he could walk home.

Seeing Cas's injuries always made Sam pissed beyond belief, but he usually choked it down so Cas didn't think Sam was pissed at him. He forced himself to do that now, and placed a gentle hand on the small of Cas's back.

"Michael's going to kill me," Cas fingered the tears in the shirt and examined them, pursing his lips.

"Here," Sam slipped off his own jacket and held it out without hesitation. "He won't even notice."

"You'll freeze, Sam," Cas tried to push it back into Sam's hands, red creeping up his neck. Sam was too good to him, treated him much better than anyone else in his life had, and sometimes Cas's didn't know how to react to the loving treatment. "I'll be fine."

Sam rolled his eyes and draped the jacket over Cas's shoulders, wrapping it around Cas's smaller frame tightly and keeping his arms around Cas's chest, hugging him closely. Cas's body relaxed against Sam's and his thin fingers tugged the jacket closed across his chest gratefully. He felt warm and safe wrapped in Sam's arms, in a way that he'd never felt with anyone else; his brother, Gabriel, tried to comfort him when he was upset sometimes, but he was awkward and rushed, desperate to get away from his arguing siblings.

Cas turned around in Sam's arms and went up on his toes to press his lips to Sam's. "Thank you."

"What, for saving you from that cat?" Sam laughed softly and brushed his fingers down the side of Cas's face tenderly. His breath puffed against Cas's cheek, a warm contrast to the freezing air. "I'm hardly your knight in shining armor."

Cas blinked up at him and cocked his head to the side, his penetrating blue gaze wandering over Sam's face, taking in Sam's dark, earnest eyes and soft smile, reveling in the feel of Sam's arms around him and Sam's body pressed against his, the familiar rise and fall of Sam's chest against his own comforting and soothing. Cas's eyebrows drew together when he felt the now familiar warm feeling pool in his chest and stomach as he met Sam's gaze, and he let words slip through his chapped lips without thinking. "I love you."

Sam's eyes widened and Cas realized what he'd said. He blinked and drew back a little bit from Sam, afraid he'd made the younger boy uncomfortable. "Sam, I…you don't have to say it back if you're not ready. I was just…"

"No, Cas, I…I do," Sam cut him off before Cas could finish, shaking his head and pulling Cas closer again, holding his tightly. "I do. Love you, I mean."

Cas smiled and tilted his head up to kiss Sam again, and Sam leaned down to meet him halfway. Cas smiled against Sam's lips, unable to hold it back, and Sam felt a warm, content feeling spread through his chest and seep all the way down to his toes.

 

"Sammy," Dean shook Sam's shoulder, trying to get Sam's attention. He'd hunched over in his chair and buried his face in his hands, his thick hair obscuring his face. "Sam, c'mon, look at me."

Sam rubbed his eyes roughly and sat up, turning his face away from Dean. Dean kept a hand on his shoulder and rubbed Sam's collarbone gently with his thumb. He wasn't sure what to say to make Sam feel better about their dad's under-reaction to something Sam had been fucking terrified to admit to him for over a year. He settled for something simple. "You should get some sleep. You've got a game at eight tomorrow morning."

Sam groaned softly and dropped his head onto Dean's hand, nuzzling his forehead into Dean's palm. "I don't want to play."

"It's only a couple months, Sammy," Dean tongued the inside of his cheek, pursing his lips, and gripped Sam's bicep to help pull him to his feet. He slung an arm around his baby brother's shoulders and walked to their shared bedroom with him, ruffling Sam's hair (Sam batted his hands away irritably, just like Dean knew he would). "You'll make it."


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: language, discussion of abuse and homophobia, implied sexual child abuse (I didn't write out the scene, but there are strong suggestive implications), and slash
> 
> Sorry this took so long!
> 
> I think that's it for this one. I hope you like it!

               Sam slammed his locker door shut, anxious to get home as soon as possible. Dean would be off work for the night and Sam was looking forward to spending time with him, something he hadn’t been able to do much lately. Soccer seemed to eat up all of his time.

               “Hey, Sam, wait a second!”

               Sam froze and turned to face his coach, clutching his sweaty uniform and cleats to his chest. Lester Prose was standing in the doorway to the coach’s office, hands on his hips, his broad frame filling most of the doorframe. He smiled at Sam and motioned for him to come closer. Sam reluctantly complied, shuffling over to stand on the opposite side of one of the bolted down benches, keeping it between them. Prose made Sam uncomfortable for some reason; he always seemed to be watching Sam too closely, and his hands always lingered for a moment to long when he clapped Sam on the shoulder or handed him the mesh bag of soccer balls.       

               Sam shifted uncomfortably and toyed with the laces of his worn cleats. “What is it?”

               “You did a great job today,” Prose praised him, smiling warmly. “I’m proud of you. You’ve come far since you joined this year.”

               “Thanks,” Sam smiled uncertainly.

               Proud of him. That was something anyone had said to him before. It felt kind of good to hear it.

               “Sit down a second, Sam,” Prose sat on the wooden bench and patted the spot next to him. Sam hesitated, but it wasn’t as if he could refuse to sit down. He perched on the edge of the bench as far as he could from Prose without falling off the end of the bench.

               Prose raised an eyebrow at him and motioned for Sam to move a little closer. “I won’t bite, Sammy. I just want to talk to you about something.”

               Sam scotched an inch closer and tightened his arms around his bundle of clothes. He felt a small twinge of annoyance at Prose calling him ‘Sammy’, but resigned himself to not bothering to correct him. “What is it? I don’t want to keep my ride waiting…”

               “Who’s picking you up, your dad?” Prose asked, glancing at the closed door of the empty locker room. If John was picking Sam up, he may want to hold off a little longer.

               Sam shifted on the bench, obviously uncomfortable, and Prose bit back a smile. The kid had good instincts about people, no doubt about that. He cleared his throat and shook his head, his dark hair flopping into his eyes. Prose ached to reach out and touch the soft-looking locks, brush them out of Sam’s face so he could see the suspicion and fear in the boy’s eyes. “No, I’m getting a ride with a friend.”

               “Castiel?” Prose asked. Sam blinked and glanced up at Prose, surprised Prose had known. Prose shrugged. “I saw him in the stands. You’re not really very social, Sammy. It’s not hard to figure it out.”

               Sam nodded slowly, turning the words over in his mind and reluctantly accepting the answer.

               “Your dad’s not around much, is he?” Prose asked, tilting his head to the side and fixing Sam with a concerned look.

               Sam shrugged and replied almost automatically, “He travels for work.” He’d had this conversation a million different times with a million different teachers, and he barely had to think about his responses any more.

               “I know,” Prose slid a little closer to Sam, hoping the boy didn’t notice. “I used to work for the same company. That’s how I met Bobby; he was my partner when we traveled for business.”

               Sam nodded, not sure what to say. Prose and Bobby had been close, Sam knew. They had worked together for years, and Bobby still considered Prose to be one of his best friends. Sam remembered the stories Bobby told about some of the trips he and Prose had taken in the past and some of the stupid things they’d done when they were younger. Still, Sam couldn’t help but feel uneasy around him. He gave himself a metal shake; Bobby trusted this guy. That should be enough for Sam.

               “Sammy,” Prose sighed and put a hand on Sam’s knee. Sam tried not to flinch away, not wanting to seem rude. His dad wanted him to get along with these people; the least he could do was try. It was just a friendly touch, nothing more than that, no reason for Sam to freak out. He was reading way too far into it. “I know it’s hard for you. What with your dad being gone, and your brother working to pick up some your Dad’s slack, and being gay, it can’t be a cakewalk.” He squeezed Sam’s knee. “If you need to talk, I’m here for you. Okay?”

               “How…how did you know about that?” Sam asked, desperately wanting to get away from Prose’s uncomfortably intimate hand on his knee. How the hell did Prose know he was gay? He barely saw Sam outside of soccer practice, and he’d never been around at school when kids had teased his about it.

               Prose shrugged, running his teeth over his bottom lip. “People talk, Sam. I’ve heard kids saying you’ve got a boyfriend. I’m assuming it’s Castiel?”

               Sam shook his head firmly, his chest tightening. People couldn’t find out about that. If word trickled down to Michael, Sam was terrified of what would happen to Cas. He wasn’t going to let Cas get hurt because of him.

               “You don’t have to lie to me,” one corner of Prose’s lips quirked upwards. “I can keep a secret, Sammy. I know his family wouldn’t approve. That’s hard, to be in love and have people condemn you for it.”

               Sam stood up quickly and stepped away from Prose’s hand as it inched up his thigh, clearing his throat and gathering his things to his chest. “I really have to go. Thanks for the help, coach, but I’ve gotta get home. See you at practice Monday.”

               Sam practically ran out of the locker room, not stopping to look back at Prose where he was left alone on the bench, his hand hovering in the air where Sam’s knee had been moments ago.

 

               Cas looked up from his book when he heard footsteps crossing the deserted parking lot, dog-earing it to keep his place and snapping it shut in the same motion. Sam rushed across the lot towards Cas’s truck, glancing around him furtively and holding his folded uniform and beat up cleats to himself like they were a shield. Cas raised an eyebrow at him and waited for Sam to make eye contact.

               Sam brushed by him and headed right to the passenger’s side of the truck, barely muttering hello.

               Cas pulled the passenger’s door open for Sam, eyebrows drawn together in concern. Sam had seemed fine when Cas had talked to him for a second before he’d gone into the locker room to change. Something must have happened to upset him. He automatically put a hand on the small of Sam’s back to help him up into the truck, and grew more concerned when Sam flinched at his touch. “What is it, Sam? Are you okay?”

               “I’m fine, Cas,” Sam bushed Cas’s concern off and forced a smile, realizing what he’d done. He was overreacting, and he needed to calm down. He was completely misinterpreting Prose’s actions; Prose just wanted him to talk to him, he was just a concerned adult. Sam let out a long breath and rubbed his temples, hunching over in the seat with his legs dangling out of the side of the car so he was facing Cas. He could feel Cas’s bright eyes scrutinizing him and forced himself to calm down.

               “Did someone say something to you in the locker room?” Cas asked, his hands curling into fists at the thought of the other guys on the team ragging on Sam. Sam got enough crap for being gay during school, he didn’t need any more of it outside of class.

               “No, not like that,” Sam reached out and took Cas’s fists in his hands, using his grip to tug Cas closer to him so the smaller man was standing between his legs. Their linked hands rested on Sam’s thighs, their fingers loosely entwined. Cas tilted his head and looked up at Sam, sucking on his bottom lip. Sam smiled softly, feeling a little better now that he was away from Prose’s unwanted attention. “I’m just tired. Long game.”

               “You did very well, as I understand it,” Cas nodded solemnly. Sam felt a minor amount of relief that Cas had bought the excuse. “The woman next to me explained that you were to keep the ball from going into the net.”

               “Yeah,” a genuine smile crept across Sam’s lips at Cas’s words. Cas was the product of some of the most extreme sheltering Sam had ever come across. He’d never seen a soccer game before he came to Sam’s first one a few weeks ago, and he was slowly learning the basics of the game from the parents who sat around him and observing the game itself carefully. “That’s what I’m supposed to do anyway. Thanks for coming to all of these, Cas, but you really don’t have to feel obligated…”

               “I don’t feel obligated,” Cas shook his head. “I like to come to these. I want to support you. I know you don’t really want to be here.” He paused for a moment, considering, before continuing. “I also enjoy learning from our classmate’s mothers. They are more patient with me than Gabriel is when I ask questions.”

               Sam smiled and twitched his eyebrows in agreement. Gabriel had a notoriously short attention span and would easily get fed up with Cas’s questions, despite his best intentions. Sam glanced at the electric clock in the dashboard and saw it was already ten o’ clock.

               Cas followed his gaze and caught sight of the time as well. “Dean gets home from work at eleven, correct?”

               “Yeah, he went in at five this morning,” Sam nodded, tightening his grip on Cas’s hands. Cas looked down at him, his serious ice-blue eyes soft and warm as he gazed at Sam; when he and Cas were alone, Cas was less careful about keeping his eyes blank and guarded and allowed himself to look open and vulnerable. Cas’s dark hair was, as usual, ruffled and sticking up in all different directions like someone had been running their hands through it; his perpetual sex hair, as Dean so fondly referred to it. Cas looked so innocent for a seventeen year old boy, with his wide, curious eyes and small smile.

               Lately, dark shadows had formed under Cas’s eyes, testifying to his lack of sleep. He was working himself too hard, desperate to get a scholarship for college so he could get away from his crazy family, and Sam was concerned he’d make himself sick if he kept going like this. Since Cas’s sister had been killed in a car crash a month ago, Cas had become even more adamant about getting away from that house and all the people in it. His family was becoming progressively more unbearable and unstable in their anger and grief.

               Cas pressed his forehead to Sam’s and kissed the tip of his nose lightly. “I should get you home.”

               “Hmmm,” Sam hummed in agreement, tugging Cas closer to seal their lips together. He felt Cas’s hands grip his biceps and he slipped his arms around Cas’s slim waist, holding him close. He spoke quietly, his mouth still pressed to Cas’s. “You should get some sleep. You look tired.”

               “Should I be insulted by that?” Cas pulled back marginally and blinked, a small smile toying at his lips.

               Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes, hugging Cas tightly. “You still look beautiful. Just tired.”

               “I’m not,” Cas denied softly, pushing lightly at Sam’s chest, ducking his head. Sam wasn’t sure which part he was denying. “Stop.”

               Sam blinked innocently at Cas and shrugged. Cas’s hand was on Sam’s knee where Prose’s had rested while they were in the locker room; it felt like Cas’s hand sucked the poison of Prose’s touch out of his skin.

               It had probably been nothing, Sam mentally berated himself, looking back at the conversation with Prose with a clearer head. He returned his attention to Cas, pushing his suspicions about Prose’s intentions to the back of his mind. “Ready?”

               “Yes,” Cas pecked Sam’s forehead lightly before waiting for Sam to climb fully into the truck so he could shut the door. Cas rounded the front of the truck and climbed into the driver’s seat. Sam’s hand stole across the console to lace his fingers with Cas’s free hand as Cas started the truck. Cas crossed his arm over his body to shift the truck into gear without letting go of Sam’s hand. As he pulled out of the parking lot of the fields, he brought Sam’s hand to his mouth and kissed the back of his palm.

               Sam glanced up from where he was hunched over in his seat, his uniform in a heap on his lap, and squeezed Cas’s hand tightly, the cold feeling in his chest left by the conversation in the locker room steadily melting as Cas’s presence warmed his heart.

               It had probably been nothing.

 

 

               “Are you ready, Sammy?” Dean strode into the apartment brandishing a thin DVD case in one hand and a six-pack of soda in the other. He put the soda down on the counter and tossed the DVD to Sam where he was hunched over his textbook at the kitchen table.

Sam picked up the DVD and flipped it over to read the cover. He raised his eyebrows and smirked. “Men in Black 2, Dean?”

“There are aliens and explosions, Sammy,” Dean pulled open the fridge and shifted things around until he found the sticks of butter stashed on the back of the top shelf. He pulled one out and tapped the fridge door shut with his hip. “Can you toss the popcorn in?”

“Already on it,” Sam nodded, moving to get a package of popcorn from the cupboard above the stove. He tore the plastic wrap off and placed the paper bag in the microwave. “Where’s Dad?”

“Dunno,” Dean grunted, shedding his jacket and dropping it into one of the kitchen chairs. He put the unwrapped the butter and dropped it into a glass bowl. Sam took the bowl and put it in the microwave next to the popcorn before closing the microwave door and hitting the ‘POPCORN’ button. “Not home, I guess.”

               “Good,” Sam muttered, crossing his arms and watching the popcorn bag expand as the butter melted in the orange light of the microwave. Sam didn’t want their Dad encroaching on his and Dean’s Saturday ritual. Every Saturday, Dean would pick up a DVD and soda from the grocery store down the street and bring them home so he and Sam could make popcorn and watch a movie together. It was the one time a week they were guaranteed to spend time together, since they both now had such hectic schedules with Sam’s school and soccer and boyfriend and with Dean’s job. Sometimes the idea of sitting on the couch next to Dean and watching some stupid action movie was the only thing that kept Sam going through the week.

               Dean raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. He sniffed his shirt, his lip curling when the scent of body odor and oil assaulted his nose. “I’m gonna jump in the shower. I’ll be right back.”

               Sam nodded and picked up the movie again to re-read the back. Dean disappeared into the bathroom and Sam heard the water start a few moments later. Sam glanced at the timer of the microwave and wandered over to his textbook. He closed the front cover and stacked his notebook on top of it, carefully placing his pen parallel to the spiral binding.

               By the time Dean had finished showering and redressed in a fresh t-shirt and baggy flannel pajama pants, Sam had the DVD player set up and a steaming bowl of buttered popcorn in the coffee table. Dean plopped down on the couch next to him, running a hand through his damp, sandy blonde hair, and accepted the soda Sam handed him. “Thanks, Sammy.”

               Sam hummed softly and dropped down onto the couch next to Dean, hitting play. He had pulled the curtains so the sunlight wouldn’t cause a glare on the screen, and the living room was only lit by the dim light of the small TV.

               Sam tugged his sweatshirt more tightly around him and leaned against Dean’s side, resting his head on Dean’s arm and shifting around to get more comfortable. Dean let him, didn’t push him away. Sammy got clingy sometimes if he was upset, scared, or tired, and Dean wasn’t going to deny him comfort if he was asking for it. Dad could barely look at Sam lately, let alone touch him, and Dean could tell it was killing Sam inside.

               “Is Cas coming over later?” Dean asked, his eyes flickering from Sam’s fingers curling into the hem of Dean’s own t-shirt, to Sam’s half closed eyes as the kid struggled to stay awake.

               Sam shook his head shortly and mumbled into Dean’s sleeve, “He’s spending the night at home. He needs some sleep, he’s working himself to death.”

               Dean pursed his lips and watched Sam’s eyes drift closed. His breathing evened out after a few minutes and a small trail of drool slid down his lip. Dean glanced at the clock; it was barely two o’ clock in the afternoon.

               Dean sighed and ruffled his baby brother’s hair gently. Sam subconsciously nuzzled into Dean’s warm hand and curled up closer to Dean’s side. “You’re not doing much better lately, Sammy.”

 

 

               Sam sighed and leaned against the wall of the gym showers, bracing himself with his arms against the cool tile. He ducked his head and let the warm water run down his aching body and drip from the ends of his dark hair. It felt good to wash the grime from practice off, and the hot water at school was more reliable than it was at home. Sometimes the water heater refused to work correctly, or Sam got stuck with the last shower of the day; either way, the water was usually freezing, so Sam was taking advantage of the warm water while he had the chance.

               He finally worked up the energy to push himself up so he was standing straight and turn off the water, immediately regretting it when his dripping body was wrapped in the cold air of the locker room a few moments later. He tugged his towel down off the curtain rod and wrapped it around his waist, securing it there tightly. He paused for a moment, listening for a sign of someone else in the locker room. Prose had asked Sam to pick up the cones and balls and lug them to the storage shed across the field after practice, and it had taken him ten or fifteen minutes. Sam couldn’t hear any movement in the locker room and figured everyone must have left by then.

               Sam stepped out of the shower and reached out to grab the clothes that he had placed on the edge of one of the benches for when he was finished, but his hand was met with nothing but polished wood. His eyebrows drew together in confusion. He was sure he’d left his stuff there.

               He ran a hand through his thick, damp hair and let out a long breath. Someone must have thought it was funny to take his clothes and leave him here in nothing but a towel. He was seriously fucking sick of these idiots picking on him and goading him to retaliate. He couldn’t do anything about it. His dad would kill him for being suspended for fighting, and honestly, Sam just wanted to fly under the radar as much as possible until he escaped this hell of a high school.

               He padded over to his locker, holding the towel around his hips, and pulled it open to grab his cell phone and call Dean. He had been planning to walk home so Dean could stop at the grocery store on his way home from work, but it looked like he could hardly do that now. He wasn’t walking all the way home in nothing but a flimsy white towel.

               When he reached into his locker, his hand was met with cold metal instead of the curved plastic of his cell phone, and he cursed softly, slamming the locker door shut. Idiots. Those fucking idiots. He hated them, he couldn’t stand them, he hated his teammates and his coach and this fucking sport, and how he barely saw Cas or Dean anymore because of all the stupid fucking practices…

               He felt his eyes stinging and rubbed at them frustratedly. He would not cry over some stupid prank. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

               He tried to ignore the part of his brain that wished Cas would just swoop in and bring him home, the part that wished Cas’s arms were wrapped around him protectively instead of this stupid, useless towel…

               “Sam?”

               Sam jumped and whirled around, the deep voice making his heart jump to his throat.

               Prose stood at the end of the lockers, watching Sam with concern written clearly across his rugged features. He took a step closer and tilted his head as he took in Sam’s appearance. “What are you still doing here?”

               “I, uh…I was…” Sam cleared his throat and tugged the towel around him, desperately wishing he was wearing more. Even Cas hadn’t seen him this exposed, and he really wasn’t comfortable with it. “Can I…can I use your phone?”

               Understanding flashed in Prose’s eyes and he moved closer to Sam, but was careful to keep a safe distance between them. “They took your stuff?”

               Sam shrugged and tried to ignore the blush that was working its way up his neck and spreading to his cheeks. “I guess so. Maybe. I…can I just please use your phone?”

               “Here,” Prose dug his phone out of his pocket, taking care not to grab Sam’s phone by mistake; that could tip Sam off and ruin his whole plan.

               “Thanks,” Sam flipped it open and started to dial, glancing up at Prose and shifting his weight form foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable. He paused when he saw a glimpse of a familiar shade of red in Prose’s screen saver. He hit the “END” button and froze when he saw the picture set as the background of Prose’s phone.

               It was a picture of Sam and Cas, from when Cas had driven Sam home last Saturday. They were kissing in the photo, Sam leaning out of the passenger’s side of Cas’s truck, too wrapped up in each other to notice that someone had been taking a picture. It wasn’t high quality, but it was clear enough to tell that the people in the photo were Sam and Castiel.

               “I…” Sam stuttered, his heart leaping to his throat again. This was bad. This was really bad.

               He let out a cry of shock when he was suddenly thrown back against the lockers and pinned there by Prose’s taller, broader, and stronger form. He had both of Sam’s wrists gripped tightly in one hand and easily pinned them above Sam’s head. Sam struggled against him, trying to slip out of his grip, but Prose’s knee wedged itself between Sam’s thighs and effectively trapped him against the lockers. Sam struggled to push himself up, away from the knee between his legs. The towel had slipped so it was hanging low on his hips, and Sam had the fleeting feeling of gratefulness that it hadn’t completely fallen off him.

               “God, you have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” Prose laughed softly, his warm breath ghosting across Sam’s shoulder. Sam shivered and tried to push him away, but his whole body was pressed flat against the lockers by Prose’s muscular frame. He could feel the larger man’s muscles ripple as he moved against Sam, and Sam shuddered with disgust. The metal of the lockers dug into his back painfully. “I was so happy when you dad agreed to sign you up for soccer.”

               “Let go of me,” Sam snapped, trying to slip a hand out of Prose’s iron grip. His head banged into the lockers, hard, when Prose smacked him with an open palm across the face. He kept his face turned away and licked at the blood on his bottom lip, wincing at the taste of bitter copper in his mouth.

               “Don’t you fucking talk back to me, boy,” Prose commanded lowly, jerking Sam away from the lockers and slamming him into the floor roughly. Sam groaned when his back hit the concrete floor and instinctively curled up into a ball in his body’s effort to relieve the pain. Prose kicked Sam’s side a few times, making the kid curl up even more, before dropping down to his knees and straddling Sam’s hips.

               Sam refused to look up at him and tried to inch away, but Prose gripped his biceps and forced Sam flat on his back, leaning over him so closely that the ends if his hair tickled Sam’s cheeks. He gave Sam a disarming smile, suddenly charming and calm. “Calm down, Sammy. Let’s just talk for a second, okay? Why don’t I explain to you what’s going to happen here?”

               “Get the fuck off me,” Sam spat, struggling against Prose’s grip determinedly. Prose rolled his eyes and brought his hand down across Sam’s face again, shutting the kid up this time. Prose examined the blood from Sam’s split lip with mild interest before returning his attention to the terrified boy under him.

               “That’s better,” Prose smiled calmly, meeting Sam’s nervous, scared eyes. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Sammy. You are going to spread your legs for me, you’re not going to complain, and you’re not going to tell. You will do what I want, when I want it, and you will not argue. Do you understand?”

               “Why should I?” Sam demanded, his voice close to breaking. He cleared his throat, trying desperately to keep it together. “There’s no reason for me to do anything you say.”

               “I think there is,” Prose’s eyebrows drew together and he pursed his lips as he looked down at Sam pityingly. “I have that nice little picture of you and your boyfriend. I doubt his family would be happy to see that.”

               “No,” Sam breathed, his stomach dropping through the floor. His chest felt numb when he realized what Prose was implying. “You can’t…”

               “I can,” Prose corrected him smugly. “And I will, too, if you don’t do what I want. Quite the incentive, isn’t it? I doubt his family would just shun him; they would tear him to shreds. Literally. He’d be lucky to make it out alive. Even then, it would kill him to lose his siblings’ love like that. Can you imagine how it would feel? What if Dean just stopped caring about you?”

               “He wouldn’t,” Sam gasped, his heart beat pounding in his ears and his breathing uneven and ragged. “He’d never…”

               “We’ll see about that,” Prose muttered softly, glancing to the side for a moment. “Point is, his siblings aren’t like Dean. They would ditch him in a heartbeat. You want him to go through that? After he lost his mother? After his sister died just a couple months ago?”

               “No,” Sam squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face away, trying to block Prose’s harsh words from his ears, like that could save him. Cas had been a wreck the couple of weeks after Anna had died. He’d stayed with Dean and Sam, and he’d alternated between not eating at all for days to stuffing his face, or not sleeping for days at a time to sleeping two or three days straight. He was just getting back on track.

               Prose gripped his chin and forced Sam’s face back towards him. He gazed at Sam with a mixture of pity and lust in his glazed eyes. “You’d be doing this to save him. Do you want to protect him, Sam? Is he worth it to you?”

               “Yes,” Sam spluttered, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes and curving down his cheeks, unable to be held back anymore. He couldn’t let that happen to Cas, Cas’s family couldn’t find out, Michael would beat him to death… Sam’s whole body shuddered and the tears started to fall harder. “Yeah, he is…”

               “Good answer,” Prose smirked, before lurching forward to close the distance between their lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it! I hope you guys like it so far.  
> Let me know what you think so far if you have a second.  
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: non-explicit sexual assault, allusions to sexual assault, slash, physical abuse, and language.
> 
> Again, sorry this took forever. I am doing my best to keep up with posting on here, but life is kicking my ass lately. I promise I'll try harder to get these posted more frequently.
> 
> Enjoy!

               Dean jiggled his knee and looked over at the bright green letters of the stove clock. Sam should have been home at least a half an hour ago, and he hadn’t called to say he was going to be late. Dean tapped his fingers on the table for a few moments, watching the clock change as another minute passed.

               He sat up straighter when a key turned in the door opened, but sagged back in the chair when he saw it was only Castiel. Cas locked the door behind him and shed his coat, hanging it up next to Dean’s on the rack in the front hall.

               “What’s up, Cas?” Dean grunted in greeting, checking his phone again. No messages.

               Cas padded into the kitchen and took a seat across from Dean. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and glanced around the apartment. “Where’s Sam?”

               “He hasn’t come home yet,” Dean replied, keeping his expression nonchalant and calm, trying to hide the fact that he was in freaking out, overprotective big brother mode from Cas as  well as he could.

               Cas knew him better than that. He gave Dean a reassuring half-smile despite the slight concern for Sam that sparked in his chest when he found out Sam wasn’t home yet. “He must have stayed late at practice.”

               “I know,” Dean snapped, more harshly than he meant to, immediately regretting it. He glanced up at Cas, who raised an eyebrow at him and leaned back in his chair, not commenting on Dean’s sharp tone. Dean sighed and scrubbed his mouth with his hand. “He’s supposed to call if he’s running late.”

               Cas opened his mouth to reply, but paused when the apartment door flew open and Sam tumbled inside, clutching the strap of his backpack in his hands tightly. He pushed the door shut behind him and shuffled into the kitchen, keeping his head ducked so he was looking at the floor so his still-dripping hair fell around his face.

               “What’s going on, Sam?” Dean asked, leaning forward to get a better look at his brother. Sam refused to make eye contact and clutched the strap of his bag so tightly his knuckles turned white. Suspicion and concern immediately seated themselves in the back of Dean’s mind when Sam wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You’re late. What happened?”

               “I just had to finish some stuff up after practice,” Sam replied quietly, his voice slightly hoarse. He cleared his throat. “I, uh…Coach Prose needed help getting the shed organized and I figured I had time…I didn’t realize how late it was.”

               “Yeah,” Dean exchanged a suspicious look with Cas before turning his attention back to Sam. “Just call next time, okay?”

               Sam shuddered almost imperceptibly and nodded, taking a skittish step back towards the living room. Dean’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Sam was acting really weird, and it was making Dean worried. “Okay, Dean. I’m going to…I’ve got a lot of homework. I’ll be in our room.”

               “You’re not coming to get dinner with us?” Cas asked, tilting his head to the side and regarding Sam curiously. Dean had been moaning about John having his poker buddies over all week, and finally Sam had suggested they all just go out and find something to do for a couple of hours so they didn’t have to be there. Cas had been looking forward to it. He and Sam couldn’t ‘go out’ to restaurants and things like that, for fear of people passing the word down to Cas’s family. Going to dinner at a barbeque place with Dean was the closest thing they could do to going on a date.

               “I can’t,” Sam frowned and hovered in the bedroom doorway, his dark eyes flickering up to meet Cas’s for only a few seconds before dropping to the floor again. He shook his head and rubbed the back of his flushed neck. “I got so much homework today, Cas, I’m sorry…”

               “It’s okay,” Cas assured him, concerned that Sam wouldn’t look at him. Sam shifted nervously under Castiel’s penetrating gaze, positive Cas could see right through his fragile façade. Sam could feel bruises in the shape of fingers forming on his biceps and hips. The splitting pain in his lower back had reduced to a dull throb, but he was reluctant to try to sit down again. “We can stay in tonight, then.”

               “No, you guys go,” Sam said quickly, his stomach dropping. If he spent the whole evening with Dean and Cas he was sure they would figure out what happened. He needed some time to get himself together; he couldn’t pretend to be okay yet. “I really need to focus for a few hours, so it’d be better if you weren’t here.”

               Cas blinked, surprised by Sam’s curt words, but nodded shortly. Sam closed the bedroom door behind him, not looking back at Cas and Dean. Dean turned to Cas, his eyebrows drawn together. “What the hell is wrong with him?”

               Cas stared at the closed door, tugging at his bottom lip absentmindedly. His troubled gaze never moved from the bedroom door as he responded slowly, “I don’t know.”

 

 

               Sam dropped his bag next to the door and collapsed onto Dean’s mattress, wincing when his sore body hit the soft pillows. He curled up into a ball, carful to rest his weight on his hip, and buried his face in his pillow.

               This wasn’t supposed to happen. Cas was supposed to be his first. He hadn’t wanted anyone else to touch him like that. He and Cas had never gone that far, not even close. Cas was slowly becoming more accustomed to being held and touched, but he wasn’t even comfortable enough to let Sam see him without a shirt, let alone anything _like that_. Sam had had suspicions that somewhere along the line, someone in Cas’s hellhole of a house had gotten a little handsy with him, but he’d never known how to bring it up.  

               Sam never wanted anyone to ever even look at him again because he felt so disgustingly ashamed. He didn’t deserve Cas’s love, not when he was so dirty. They had agreed to wait until they were both sure they were ready, most likely only once they moved away from their families. Sam hadn’t wanted his first time in the back of a car, or a rushed meeting while his dad and Dean were out.

               He choked on a sob; he’d been so sure it would be Cas, in their own bed, in their own place someday. Instead, it was his middle-aged soccer coach against a sticky bench in the high school locker room.

               He clutched the pillow tightly as memories from the locker room flashed through his mind, unbidden; the hands on his body, moving lower and lower, his stomach being shoved into the side of one of the polished benches repeatedly until he was sure he was going to throw up, the blinding pain shooting through his battered body…

               He hadn’t known it would hurt like that. He wasn’t naïve, he knew it would be a little painful, but that had hurt like hell. He wanted to scream and cry and throw up, but he couldn’t make his body move the way he wanted it to, he couldn’t get his voice to work.

               Sam’s body heaved as he sobbed silently into Dean’s pillow, his face pressed into the damp, soap scented fabric.

               _“If you tell anyone, I swear to God, Sammy, I will make sure everyone in town sees that picture,” Prose hissed into his ear, his warm breath searing against the skin of Sam’s temple. Sam gripped the edges of the bench more tightly, not caring when he felt his knuckles popping, welcoming the feeling of pain he could control. Prose’s fingers dug roughly into Sam’s hips. “Do you understand me? I’d hate to see your boyfriend’s face get messed up when his brothers found out. He is a pretty little thing, it’d be a shame…”_

_Sam gritted his teeth and pressed his forehead to the cool wood of the bench._

_One of Prose’s hands slid into Sam’s hair and yanked his head back roughly so Sam was forced to meet his cold, lust-filled eyes. Sam dropped his gaze, unable to muster up any feelings of defiance. He was too ashamed, in too much pain, felt too disgusted by the waves of pleasure mixing with the pain in his body. He whimpered softly and silently willed the tears coursing down his cheeks to stop. Prose’s lips curled into a spiteful smile and he growled lowly against Sam’s throat, “I said, do you understand me?”_

_“Yes,” Sam managed to choke out, trying to move away from Prose’s lips on his neck. He didn’t want Prose’s greedy mouth touching him in lust anywhere near where Cas’s soft, chapped lips had kissed him in love. “I won’t tell, I promise, I won’t…”_

_“Not that John would believe you anyway,” Prose snorted. “What would you tell him? Bobby’s best friend touched you in a bad place? He already thinks you’re an attention whore, Sam. He thinks Castiel is a phase. He’s always been worried you’d fall for a guy, ever since you turned thirteen and still didn’t have an interest in any girls in your class. Why do you think he signed you up for soccer? So you would man up.”_

_Sam squeezed his eyes shut and tightened his arms around the bench, shaking his head. “I…he…”_

_“Sorry, Sammy,” Prose suddenly let go of Sam’s hips. The sharp, staggering pain dulled slightly. Sam couldn’t adjust to the loss of support and collapsed to the dirty locker room floor, a cry of pin escaping his lips when he hit the ground. Prose readjusted his slacks and knelt down next to Sam, reaching out to rub his hair tenderly. Sam tried to pull himself away from the touch, but his arms were shaking too hard. Prose smiled encouragingly at him; it made Sam sick. “You did good, babe. Castiel is one lucky guy.” He pressed his lips to Sam’s again. Sam’s lips remained motionless and non-pliant under his own. “I need help organizing the sports shed next Wednesday. You’ll stay to help me.”_

_Sam nodded stiffly, keeping his gaze locked firmly on the empty chip bag that had missed the trashcan when someone had thrown it. His stomach twisted at the thought of having to do this again._

               “Maybe we should have stayed,” Cas muttered, poking at the charred chicken on his plate absentmindedly. He and Dean had hovered around the apartment uncertainly, not wanting to interrupt Sam and piss him off even more, but not wanting to leave him alone when he was obviously in a bad mood. They had only left when John had come home, four other men following him, toting a medley of alcohol with them.

               “Sam just needs some time,” Dean grunted, biting into his burger. He wasn’t really enjoying it, too distracted by worry for his baby brother. “He has his moods.”

               “I don’t believe this is merely a mood, Dean,” Cas replied shortly, dropping his fork onto his plate and pursing his lips. “He seemed upset. We shouldn’t have left.”

               “I don’t want you hanging around my Dad and his friends,” Dean snapped. “Neither does Sam.”

               Cas blinked at him, taken aback. That hadn’t been anything like what he’d expected Dean to say. “Why not?”

               Dean sighed a rubbed his face with his hands. He’d just wanted a goddamned hamburger, not a heart to heart with Cas about what a jerk John Winchester could be. Was that too much to ask? “You know my dad doesn’t like you, Cas. When he starts drinking during these poker games…he can be harsh. It gets Sam worked up when he starts in about you, and I don’t like hearing them fight, okay? Just eat you chicken and shut up. Sam is fine.”

               Anger ignited in Cas’s chest at Dean’s condescending tone. His grip on his fork tightened painfully and he fixed Dean with a dark glare. “Don’t talk about me like I need to be defended, Dean. I can take care of myself. Sam knows that.”

               “I know,” Dean put up his hands in a ‘don’t shoot’ gesture and met Cas’s gaze steadily with his bright green eyes. Cas’s hard glare softened a little bit when he saw the honesty in Dean’s expression. “But you’re his boyfriend, Cas. He’s not going to let John bitch about you. He’s got to defend your honor, or whatever.”

               “Defend my honor?” Cas raised his eyebrows and smiled a little, amused.

               Dean shrugged and the corner of his lips quirked into a reluctant half smile. “Sam’s into that romantic crap.”

               “I know,” Cas agreed softly, looking down at his hands flopped in his lap. He and Sam had a pretty well balanced give and take relationship. Neither of them was interested in grand gestures of affection. Cas knew that from the outside, their relationship didn’t look like anything spectacular.

               Cas couldn’t help feeling like it was, though. Sam stood up for him. Sam told him he was beautiful, something he had a hard time believing. Sam had seen some of the ugly scars that twisted all over his body, and he had just pulled Cas close and run his fingers over the raised white lines, pressing his lips to Cas’s temple. He made Cas want to smile more, he made Cas want to be a better person than the damaged, broken kid he was now. They had to hide in constant fear of being found out, they couldn’t go on dates, and Cas’s family could never know; it wasn’t what Cas had pictured when he’d dreamed of falling in love, but he wouldn’t ever give it up, for anything.

               Cas twisted his napkin in his thin fingers, recalling Sam’s words the first time they’d kissed. Cas had hesitated before their lips met and Sam had smiled a little bit, showing off the dimples in his cheeks, his soft chocolate locks falling into his dark eyes.

               _“It’s okay, Cas. I trust you.”_

               “We should go make sure he’s okay,” Cas cleared his throat and pushed his plate away. “I don’t feel—“

               “Dean Winchester?”

               Cas’s statement was cut off when a strong male voice boomed across the small restaurant. Dean looked up from his plate curiously, still chewing a large bite of hamburger. Cas’s lip twitched when he noted the amount of food crammed in Dean’s mouth. Dean saw Cas’s lip curl in disgust and grinned widely as Cas, giving him a good view of the half chewed food.

               “I thought it was you,” Andrew Prose came to a stop at the end of their table and beamed at the two younger men. Cas smiled politely at him. “How are you?”

               “Fine,” Dean replied, swallowing and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “How are you?”

               “Good,” Prose’s gaze shifted to Cas and his smiled widened until it was almost a leer. Cas shifted uncomfortably under his gaze and licked his bottom lip nervously, unsure of where he should look and what he should say. “Really good, actually.”

               Cas’s eyes flickered over to Dean, conveying his discomfort as Prose loomed over him. Dean cleared his throat and spoke up loudly, trying to draw his attention away from Cas. “So how’d Sammy do in practice today?”

               “Kid’s a natural,” Prose replied, sparing Dean a glance for a moment. He dug his hands in his pockets and smiled, toning it down so he didn’t look quite so psychotic. Cas picked up his glass to take a sip of water, desperate for something to do so he didn’t have to look at Prose. “He’s doing great. Offered to help me out with organizing the storage shed next week, too. Great kid.”

               Dean nodded in agreement, eyeing Prose suspiciously. Bobby talked about Prose like he walked on water, and Dean held a lot of stock in Bobby’s judgment. Just because he didn’t like the guy didn’t mean there was something wrong with Prose. Dean was just paranoid.

               “So I didn’t realize you two were together now,” Prose feigned ignorance and looked back and forth between Dean and Cas innocently. “Can’t say I’m surprised, you two have always been close.”

               Cas almost spit out a mouthful of water all over the table. He managed to stop himself at the last second, but he choked and some spilled from his mouth, ran down his chin, and dripped onto the tabletop. Dean rolled his eyes and handed Cas a napkin. “We’re not together.”

               “He is a little old for you, Castiel,” Prose commented lightly, his grin unwavering. Cas coughed and focused on mopping up the water, not sure of how to reply. He didn’t understand what exactly was going on, he just knew that he wasn’t enjoying this conversation. Prose (finally) took a step away from the table. “It was nice seeing you both. Tell Sam I said hello.”

               Dean grunted noncommittally as Prose turned and walked towards the bar. Dean turned back to Cas, who had finished cleaning up the water and was already pulling on his battered trench coat. Dean jerked his head towards the front door. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

 

               “Where the hell were you?” Dad slurred, watching Dean and Cas cross through the kitchen. Dean ignored him, his nose wrinkling when he caught a whiff of the strong scent of alcohol wafting from his father and his father’s disgusting friends. Sometimes the best thing to do when Dad had been drinking was ignore him until he sobered up or just passed out.  

               Dean froze and turned on his heel when he heard Cas yelp quietly in surprise. Dad had grabbed Cas’s jacket and yanked him back towards the table, so his face was inches from Cas’s. Dad’s rough features were arranged to be almost completely stoic and blank, but Dean could tell he was seething underneath the unreadable expression. Cas tried to untangle the man’s fingers from his coat as politely as he could, his heart racing.

               Dad’s upper lip curled and he growled warningly, “I don’t want you alone with Sammy in his room.”

               “I’m going in there, too, Dad,” Dean sighed, too tired to deal with his dad’s drunken paranoia. He gripped Cas’s elbow and tugged him towards the living room. Dad let go of Cas’s coat reluctantly, watching them as they escaped to Sam and Dean’s shared bedroom. “Don’t worry about it.”

               “Fucking freak…” Dad muttered, turning back to the table in his chair and fixing his gaze back on his cards, losing interest when Cas had no visible reaction to the familiar insult.

               Dean was torn between calling his dad out for insulting Cas and just getting the fuck out of there before any of Dad’s drinking buddies got a little too curious and rowdy. The last thing they needed was for them to find out about Cas’s sexuality and antagonize him about it; the kid had a hard enough time accepting it himself.

               Cas decided for him, pushing open the bedroom door and continuing on without acknowledging Dad’s insult. Dean let out a low breath, shooting an angry glare at his Dad’s turned back before slipping into the room after Cas and closing the door.

               Sam was curled up in Dean’s bed, clutching a pillow to his chest, fast asleep. His hair fell over his face, obscuring his soft features, and Dean could make out the small trail of drool from the corner of his mouth dripping onto his bed sheets.

               Cas hesitated inside the door, taking in Sam’s hunched form, eyebrows drawn together with concern. Cas picked at his bottom lip and took a few steps closer to the bed, his ice blue eyes never leaving Sam. It was moments like this where Dean was grateful Sam hadn’t taken up with some guy who would just lead him along and use him; he’d found someone who genuinely loved him. Dean was twenty years old and still hadn’t found a girl that cared enough to stick around for more than a few weeks.

               Sam twitched when he heard Cas’s soft footsteps (the kid had always been a light sleeper), and pushed himself up onto his elbows, wincing in the dim light of the bedside lamp when his eyes flickered open. He blinked a few times, carefully readjusting himself before settling on his side, and cleared his throat, looking up at Cas through his eyelashes. “Hey.”

               Cas perched himself on the edge of the bed and reached out to stroke Sam’s hair. Sam shrank from Cas’s gentle touch and shook his head. He crossed his arms and curled his shoulders inwards, like he was trying to make himself look smaller. “Cas, not now, okay? I don’t feel good.”

               Dean leapt into action at those words, moving to Sam’s other side to feel his forehead. Sam batted his hands away the same way he had done to Cas and buried his face in his arms, looking absolutely miserable.

               “He’s a little warm,” Dean said softly, the heat from Sam’s forehead fading from where he’d felt it stain his calloused fingers. “I’ll get some Tylenol.”

               Dean returned with two of the white tablets in his palm a few moments later to find Sam’s eyes had drifted shut. Cas pushed Sam’s bangs back off of his forehead, frowning when he felt the slight heat against his palm.

               Dean set the pills down next to the glass Sam kept on his bedside table and moved to shake Sam’s shoulder to wake him up so he could swallow the medicine, but Cas grabbed his wrist before he could touch Sam.

               “Let him sleep, Dean,” Cas said quietly, so he wouldn’t wake Sam. Sam had already fallen into a surprisingly deep slumber, his chest rising and falling steadily. Cas could feel Sam shivering slightly, and peeled off his coat to lay it over Sam’s shuddering, sweaty body.

               Dean tongued the inside of his cheek and considered Sam for a moment. He had immediately latched onto Cas’s coat, burying his face in the worn fabric and relaxing slightly at the familiar smell of pine and incense woven into the soft fibers. He looked like hell, sweating, shaking, and pale, but Dean figured Cas had a point; Sam might not get back to sleep that easily if Dean woke him up now. He could take the medicine the next time he got up. “Okay.”

               “I should go,” Cas stood up, his long fingers trailing through Sam’s tangled hair. He paused for a moment, looking down at Sam with an odd mixture of concern and awe in his pale eyes, like even after knowing Sam for years and years, Cas was still struck by him. And if Cas could look at Sam like that while he was sweaty, bitchy, flushed, and disgusting looking, Dean figured Cas was pretty screwed.

               Cas rubbed the back of his neck and ducked his head. “I promised Inias I would take him to the park tomorrow. I have to get some work done before then. I’m sure Sam will be in capable hands.”

               “I got it covered. Get some sleep, too, idiot,” Dean muttered, tugging the blankets up around Sam gently, not even bothering with trying to remove Cas’s coat from his brother’s death grip on the ratty thing. “You’re not going to be able to whisk Sammy away from here if you work yourself to death.”

               Cas’s lips twitched into a sardonic smile. He allowed himself one last look back at his boyfriend’s slumbering form; Sam had curled up into a ball again, as if he was trying to protect himself from something. He looked younger when he slept, and the lines stress carved into his features were smoothed out. He looked peaceful and carefree, things he rarely appeared to be while he was awake. Cas’s heart ached; Sam was too young to have eyes as jaded as he did. “I suppose that’s a fair point.”

 

 

               Cas cringed when he opened his truck door; he could hear Inias screaming inside the house from where he was parked on the lawn. He steeled himself and strode up the rickety porch steps; his siblings were hopeless when it came to calming Inias down from one of his tantrums.

               He pulled open the unlocked front door and found Zachariah and Raphael trying to hold down a screaming, red faced Inias. Rachel and Joshua hovered near them in the hallway, uncertain of whether or not they should try to help.

               “Inias, calm down!” Raphael barked, gripping the boy’s shoulders to pin him to the floor. Inias was struggling against Raphael and screaming as loudly as his small lungs would allow, breathless with sobs. “Stop screaming!”

               Zach struggled to keep a hold of Inias’s ankles to stop him from kicking. He caught sight of Cas and relief flashed through his eyes. Castiel was the only one now who could get Inias to calm down when he got worked up like this. “Castiel, you’re home. Help us out.”

               “No,” Raphael snapped, stopping Cas in his tracks with a furious glare. Cas tilted his head inquisitively, opening his mouth to ask what Raphael meant. Raphael cut him off before he could begin. “Castiel, let me handle it.” He returned his attention to Inias and yelled to be heard over Inias’s shrill screams of distress. “If you don’t stop right now, I will belt you, Inias. Quiet down right now. Stop screaming!”

               “Raphael, he doesn’t understand!” Cas took a few steps closer and reached out to comfort the eight year old himself. Tears streaked down Inias’s bright red cheeks, and if he didn’t calm down soon he was going to make himself sick. Inias had caught sight of Cas and reached out for his older brother, his eyes filled with terror. “Let him up, you’re scaring him!”

               “If you take another step closer, Castiel, I will beat him within an inch of his life and make you watch,” Raphael threatened harshly, struggling to keep Inias pinned to the floor. “He needs to learn to listen to someone besides you.”

               “He’s not like us,” Cas tried desperately to make Raphael understand that this wouldn’t help Inias. “You have to be careful with him. Please, I can calm him down, let me try…”

               “Listen to Raphael,” Uriel reprimanded Castiel as he moved by them from the kitchen to his bedroom, unmoved by the sounds of distress and fear slipping past Inias’s lips. “He’s older than you.”

               Cas growled lowly, not even gracing Uriel with a second glance when he replied, “You’re not in charge of me, Uriel.”

               Uriel huffed, disgruntled, and disappeared into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

               “Ca…Ca…” Inias choked out through his breathless sobs, pressing his hands over his ears to block out the overwhelming noises and squeezing his eyes shut.

               Cas’s resolve broke when Inias’s small voice called for him. He strode forward to pull Raphael off Inias and shoved his older brother away from the distraught eight year old. Zach let go of Inias’s legs and moved out of the way, giving Cas the space to kneel next to Inias and pull the flailing boy into his arms.

               Raphael caught himself on the wall and turned to chastise Cas, but paused when he saw that Inias was actually calming down. Cas was rocking him gently, cradling the boy’s small frame tightly to his chest, and speaking to him slowly and firmly.

               “Calm down, Inias. You are safe. Breathe. Breathe,” Cas repeated over and over, running his hand up and down Inias’s back, trying to soothe him.

               Inias’s screams faded to choked whimpers and his small fingers curled into the front of Cas’s shirt. He pressed his face into Cas’s chest and wiggled closer on his brother’s lap. Cas stood up, lifting Inias with him easily, and slipped by Rachel and Joshua to lay Inias down in his bed. Cas paused, pushed Inias’s hair back from his forehead, and sighed softly watching Inias’s glassy eyes stare past Cas’s shoulder. He pressed a kissed to the boy’s forehead.

               Inias blinked sleepily, his eyes focused on the wall behind Cas, and smiled innocently, showing off his missing baby teeth. Cas found himself smiling back gently. He pulled the blankets up over Inias’s tiny body. “Goodnight, Inias.”

               “Ca,” Inias mumbled softly, rolling over in bed and tugging the blankets around himself, snuggling closer to Cas’s side. Cas stayed perched on the edge of his bed for a few more minutes, until Inias’s breathing evened out and Cas was sure he was asleep.

               Cas stood up slowly and edged out of the room, careful to tread lightly so he didn’t wake Inias. He pulled the door shut behind him and came face to face with a fuming Raphael.

               “What did I tell you, Castiel?” Raphael growled, shoving Cas back into the door, hard. Cas tried to slip out of Raphael’s grip, but his older brother’s arms created a barrier he couldn’t break on either side of him.

               “He doesn’t understand,” Cas tried again to explain, his stomach twisting. He couldn’t let Raphael hit Inias; it wasn’t Inias’s fault his brain didn’t work how theirs did. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t understand things the same way the rest of them did. He didn’t deserve to be punished. “He just gets scared when you guys start yelling, and you have to be careful about calming him down…”

               Raphael struck Cas across the face and hissed in his ear, “I don’t care what you think. We will fix him. If you keep babying him, he’ll never just be normal.”

               “He doesn’t have to be fixed,” Cas said steadily, his ice cold eyes meeting Raphael’s burning, angry gaze. “He has to be taken care of by people who love him.”

               “Don’t accuse me of not loving him,” Raphael said lowly. “Just let me handle it next time, or you’ll get a lot more than a slap across the face. You and Anna always do this, he’ll only…”

               Raphael paused when he realized what he’d said. His brown eyes darkened and he let out a soft breath, ducking his head for a moment. Cas froze, sure the mention of Anna was enough to anger Raphael enough to beat Cas again; he could still feel his sides throbbing from where Raphael and Uriel had laid into him two days ago for mentioning Anna at dinner.

Raphael let out a low breath and chewed on the inside of his cheek, turning his face away from Cas. “Just don’t disobey me again, Castiel.”

               Raphael dropped his arms to his side and turned on his heel. He stormed down the hall and disappeared out the front door, slamming it behind him; it shook the whole house. Cas let out a long breath, relieved he hadn’t had to defend Inias from Raphael, and pushed by Joshua to get into the kitchen.

               “Ah, Raphael storming out in a rage?” Balthazar raised an eyebrow and grinned at Cas from where he was sitting at the kitchen table. His fingers were linked behind his neck and he was tilted back on the two back legs of the chair. “I figured you must be home.”

               “I’m regretting that decision more and more with every moment I spend here,” Cas muttered, pulling down an empty mason jar from the shelf above the sink. He filled it with water and took a seat across from Balthazar, rubbing his temples.

               “I don’t see why you even bother coming home when you could be spending the night with the Winchesters,” Balthazar continued, leering at Cas. “They’re both pretty into you. I’d take advantage of that in a second.”

               “Balthazar,” Zachariah reprimanded him sharply at the same time Cas snapped, “Both of them are not ‘into me’.”

               “What?” Balthazar blinked innocently and dropped all four legs of the chair back to the floor. He held out his hands, palms up, biting back an amused smile. He loved ruffling Cas’s feathers about the Winchesters. He wasn’t blind; he knew Cas had a huge crush on Sam, even if the rest of his family seemed blind to it. “I’m just saying. I wouldn’t mind if the tall one would—“

               “Balthazar!” Zach repeated stiffly, cutting Balthazar off before he could finish his thought. He hated that Cas spent time with the Winchesters, he hated that Cas had changed so much in the past few years because of them. Cas used to be a good kid who came right home from school, did his homework, and read his Bible before going to bed. Now he was always out with Sam and Dean; the kid practically lived at their house. Cas was pushing the rest of his real family away in favor of them, and Zachariah wasn’t happy with it. “I don’t want to discuss the Winchesters.”

               “Oh, I do,” Lucifer pushed himself up from where he’d been lying on the couch and perched on the back of the sofa, grinning eagerly at Cas. Cas rolled his eyes and scrubbed his hand over his face, exasperated. “They’re one of my favorite topics. How’s Sammy, lately?”

               “Sam is fine,” Cas replied through gritted teeth, stressing Sam’s name. “Thanks for asking.”

               “You should bring him around sometime,” Lucifer’s lips curled into an almost obscene smile. “I’ve only seen him around school. I’d love to meet him.”

               “He’s not coming anywhere near here as long as I can help it,” Cas replied firmly. He stood up and dumped the rest of his water down the sink. He rinsed out the glass and placed it in the drying rack, ignoring the curious gazes of his brothers he could feel on his back. “Goodnight.”

               “Night, Princess,” Balthazar grunted, crossing his arms and raising at eyebrow at Cas’s terse response to Lucifer’s comment.

               Rachel squeezed Cas’s shoulder as she passed him on his way out of the kitchen. She smiled kindly at him. “Don’t listen to them, Cas. Night.”

               Cas nodded to her, grateful for the expression of kindness from one of his siblings, at least. He rubbed his hands through his hair and wandered down the hall to his bedroom. He collapsed into bed, too tired to work on any schoolwork, and sighed softly, his tense body relaxing into the soft mattress. He could hear Michael and Zachariah speaking lowly in the next room. Balthazar and Lucifer were bantering loudly about the Winchesters (Cas was slightly concerned with how obsessed they seemed to be with his best friend and boyfriend). Hester must have been woken up by all the commotion, because Cas heard her start wailing down the hall. He debated getting up from his warm bed to go comfort her, but few moments later, he heard Gabriel hushing her and lifting her from her crib. Cas heard snatches of Joshua’s voice from his room on the other side of the wall next to Cas’s bed; he was probably talking to Dad. Uriel was in the living room, bitching about something or the other to Rachel, who probably wasn’t paying attention to a word he said.

               Cas pulled his pillow over his head and pressed it to his ears, suddenly overwhelmed by the noise and voices, the corners of his eyes stinging.

               He took a deep breath and set his jaw. He was strong and he would not allow his family to make him cry. He would make it. He was going to graduate and get himself and Sam out of this hellhole of a town so they could have a real life together if it was the last thing he did.

               Cas could never return to living complacently with his oppressive, narrow-minded, violent family; not after he’d met Sam and been shown what it was liked to be loved so completely for who he was; not after he’d met Dean and found someone he could relate to and confide in without feeling like he was being judged; not after he realized he could go to college and have a life away from his family; and certainly not after he had discovered how it felt to have Sam smile at him, to have Sam’s lips pressed to his, or to hear Sam’s laugh and know he’d caused it. He couldn’t just let all of that go.

               He wasn’t the same person he’d been all those years ago.

He’d met Sam Winchester, and he had fallen.        

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go! I hope you guys liked it!
> 
> Please, please review! I'm going on a *shudder* college visit this weekend, so give me something to pull me through:) Seriously, though, they made me inordinately happy when I get them.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I suck at keeping a posting schedule, have two chapters at once! Also, thanks to everyone who has commented:)
> 
> WARNINGS: childhood sexual assault, language, alcoholism (mentions), child abuse, slash, and violence (and man-tears. Lots and lots of man-tears).

               “SAM!”

               Sam flinched when he his name echoed through the small apartment loudly, stopping him cold. He’d been trying to sneak into the bedroom without his father noticing, but Dad must have heard the doorknob turn.

               Damn that man’s impeccable hearing.

               “Yeah, Dad?” Sam called back, pressing on towards his and Dean’s bedroom, hoping that if he got there before Dad made it to the living room, he could shrug whatever his dad wanted off quickly and shut the door in his face.

               No such luck. Dad stepped into the living room, a stack of papers in his right hand and a half-empty bottle in his left. He smelled like booze, but the scent wasn’t overpowering yet. Sam glanced at the clock and was surprised to see that it was already seven p.m.; Dad was usually too drunk to move, or had fallen asleep by now.

               “I got a call this morning,” Dad pointed at the couch, demanding wordlessly for Sam to sit. Sam complied, resting as much of his weight as he could on his hip. He still had to bite back a wince of pain and squirmed in discomfort. Prose wasn’t gentle, and after a little over three weeks of being roughly taken every other day, Sam was hurting badly.

               Dad didn’t seem to notice. He paced back and forth in front of the couch, towering intimidatingly over Sam. “Your teachers wanted to talk to me. So I take an hour of work to go in, and guess what I find out?”

               Sam stomach sank and he bowed his head, letting his hair fall into his eyes. He clenched his hands together tightly and let out a long breath. “Dad…”

               “A 27 on your math test, Sam?” Dad spat, shoving one of the sheets of paper in Sam’s face. Sam flinched and looked away, wrapping his arms around himself like that could shield him from the harsh words he knew were coming. “What the hell? And look…” Dad brandished another paper. “52 on your history test…” he began leafing through the papers and listed off a couple more, “47 on your English essay, 50 on your chemistry quiz, and oh, look!” Dad slammed the last piece of paper down onto the coffee table in front of Sam with a loud thump. “A 10 on your Latin quiz. It was conjugation, for God’s sake, Sam.”

               Sam remained silent, hunching over and staring at the thin, stained rug, afraid to look up at Dad. He didn’t know what to say. He’d known his grades had been slipping; he hadn’t been able to focus lately in class. He was constantly on alert at school for Prose; he was terrified the man would have him dismissed form class on the pretense of having to help him in the gym. He felt like he was falling apart, shattering into a thousand pieces. He felt like he was hurtling towards the edge of a cliff with nothing to grab onto to stop himself.

               “So what’s going on?” Dad demanded sharply, planting his feet so he was standing right in front of Sam, his arms crossed over his chest imposingly. “Is something wrong, or are you just being lazy?”

               _He touched me._

Sam could hear the words in his mind; he could feel them clawing their way up his throat, choking him, begging to come out, but he couldn’t force them past his lips.

               All of Cas’s past injuries flashed through his mind; a broken arm, gaping, raw wounds around his wrists and ankles where he’d been tied up and left alone for days as a punishment, throbbing bruises that constantly painted his fair skin, chafed skin around his neck punctuated by dark bruises where he’d been choked with a belt, his crooked fingers that had all been methodically broken when Michael found him writing for his own pleasure instead of studying… Sam knew there were more, knew there were so many more that Cas successfully hid from him. Michael would not hesitate to punish Cas harshly if he found out about Sam, and it might be the thing that finally pushed Michael too far.

               Sam remembered the last time Michael had taken a belt to Cas, a few weeks back.

               _Cas curled up on his side, hunching into himself and clutching Sam’s pillow to his bare chest so he could bury his face in the scratchy fabric. Sam felt Cas shaking with the effort of holding back sobs as he gently cleaned Cas’s back so he could bandage it. Skin was torn off in strips, and the skin that wasn’t was a mottled mess of browns, yellows, blacks, and purples. It looked bad, and it was obviously almost unbearably painful for Cas._

_Sam worked quickly, gently manipulating Cas’s limp body to wrap his back with soft, clean bandages. Cas whimpered softly, the corner of his mouth twitching. His jaw was set and his teeth were grinding together so hard Sam could hear them squeaking. Sam paused to gently rest a hand on Cas’s neck, right over his pulse point, and lean down to press his fore head to Cas’s. Cas’s eyes flickered open when he felt Sam’s hair tickling his face, and Sam felt his heart leap to his throat when he saw the fear in Cas’s sharp blue eyes. He cupped his hand around the back of Cas’s neck and bumped his nose with Cas’s gently. “I’ve got you, Cas. You’re safe now.”_

_“I thought he was going to kill me,” Cas admitted quietly, his breath coming in short gasps. Sam hushed him and rubbed the back of his neck soothingly, moving closer to Cas and molding himself to the smaller man’s side, keeping his forehead pressed to Cas’s temple. Cas’s chest hitched and he choked, “I really thought he was going to kill me this time…”_

Sam ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the thick strands. He couldn’t do that to Cas. It was his job to keep Cas safe, to take care of him; no one else did. There was no way he would put the man he loved in even more danger.

               “I…” Sam cleared his throat and tried to find the words to get himself out of this situation. “I just…I’m sorry. I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

               “If you didn’t spend so much time with your boyfriend,” Dad sneered when he said the word and threw the stack of papers onto the coffee table. They scattered and fell to the floor. Sam glanced down at them, but Dad didn’t seem to notice or care about the mess. “Then maybe you’d get some schoolwork done. He’s a bad influence on you.”

               “Bad influence?” Sam repeated, shocked. “Dad, Cas is a straight-A student. He’s got the highest GPA in school.”

               Dad shook his head and scrubbed his mouth with his hand. He regarded Sam for a few moments, noting the circles under his wary eyes and the ginger way he held himself. “Sammy, you’re exhausted. I think you need to take a break from him for now. Focus on school and soccer. I think it’ll be good for you.”

               After a long pause, Sam spoke up softly, “Is this because Cas is a guy?” His tone wasn’t accusing, only curious. He genuinely wanted to know if that was why his dad was acting like this. Dad hadn’t even acknowledged Sam’s relationship with Cas since the night he found out. “If I was dating a…a Cassandra, would you be saying that?”

               Dad paused and stared at Sam for a few moments. It seemed like the questioned had stumped him, as if he’d never considered it before. He replied carefully, “Sam, I’m tying my hardest here. I’m sorry if I’m not hanging a rainbow flag out the window, but I’m at least trying to understand. You’re damn lucky; I’ve heard of kids who came out to their parents and got kicked out of their house.”

               “I know,” Sam muttered quickly, casting his gaze back to the ground. Dad had a point. He was trying; Sam couldn’t blame him for not knowing exactly how to handle this. It’s not like Dad had ever been around anyone in an open same-sex relationship before; he’d grown up in a small town where it was unacceptable to most of the locals. If there had been anyone there who was gay, there was no way they would have told anyone; they would have almost certainly been shunned or just plain not acknowledged. “I’ll try harder. I’m sorry.”

               Dad nodded stiffly and scratched his scruffy beard. For a second, Sam thought Dad was about to hug him, and was unspeakably relieved when the front door opened, drawing Dad’s attention from Sam.

               Sam rubbed his hands up and down his arms, trying to calm himself down, taking a deep breath. He could barely handle Cas touching him lately; if his Dad had put a hand on his shoulder, or, in an uncharacteristic moment of compassion, tried to hug him, Sam would have fallen apart.

               “Hey,” Dean shut the door behind him, watching Dad and Sam suspiciously. Sam looked like crap, he noted; Dean had been shaking him awake from horrific nightmares for the past four weeks. Sam hadn’t had dreams this bad for this amount of time since he was little, and it was freaking Dean out to see Sam waking up in tears and begging incoherently every time he tried to get some sleep.

               “Hi, Dean,” Dad greeted him, stepping away from Sam so the younger boy could have some space. He seemed to notice the mess of papers on the floor for the first time and cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair. “Pick those up, Sam.”

               Sam jumped to pick up the crumpled papers, recognizing his father’s dismissal, and scurried into the bedroom before Dad could change his mind, pulling the door shut behind him.

               Dean watched Sam disappear into the bedroom, surprised. Sam hadn’t even looked at him before he’d sprinted for the bedroom, holding onto those papers as if he was afraid they’d grow wings and fly away from him. Dean’s gaze shifted to Dad and took on a suspicious overtone.

               “What?” Dad demanded, exasperated. He held out his hands palms up in a gesture of desperation. “I just told him he needed to bring up his grades. That’s what parents do, isn’t it?”

               He’d said the last part jokingly, but Dean wouldn’t have been shocked if Dad actually had to ask. He pushed his criticisms for his father aside, more concerned about Dad mentioning Sam’s grades. “What’s wrong with Sam’s grades? The kid’s a freakin’ genius, why would he need to work on his grades?”

               “He’s been failing tests lately,” Dad replied, glancing down and seeming to notice he’d left his bottle on the table. He picked it up and took a few long sips of the amber liquid.

               Dean gritted his teeth and growled lowly. “Maybe if you didn’t make him join a soccer team that has him at four hour practices every night and playing four games a weekend, he would have time to get his homework done. He looks fucking exhausted, Dad.”

               “Don’t swear at me,” Dad snapped, his grip on the neck of the bottle tightening. “I’m not going to apologize making him join the soccer team. He’s good at it, and he needs something to do besides read and spend time with his boyfriend.”

               “Is this about Cas?” Dean’s eyes narrowed again when Dad spat out ‘boyfriend’. “Sam’s sixteen. I think he’s old enough to decide if he wants to spend some time with his boyfriend. It’s not like Cas is getting him into drugs, it’s not like they’re doing anything.”

               “They better not be,” Dad grumbled, his eyes narrowing threateningly at the door. He’d kill the kid for corrupting his innocent baby. Sam wasn’t like Dean had been; Dean had slept with half the girls in that school by the time he was Sam’s age. Sam was more interested in a relationship, in romance, in trust, than he was in sex. John hoped Sam never grew out of it; he hoped the world didn’t beat down his idea of love the way it had torn apart Dean’s.

               Dean rolled his eyes at his father. He felt like he was talking to brick wall lately when they tried to have a conversation. “Just give him some space. He’s been acting weird lately.”

               Dad nodded in agreement and plopped into the armchair, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “What’s going on with him? Are kids at school picking on him again?”

               Dean blinked and mulled it over. He hadn’t thought of that. Sam had always had a rough time with bullies. He hadn’t said anything to Dean about it, but he hadn’t really said anything to Dean lately. He’d detached; he communicated mainly in monosyllables. He came home from practice, showered (which Dean didn’t really get, because he came home with his hair damp from the locker room showers, but, hey Sam was a teenager; Dean couldn’t blame him for wanting time to shower alone), and then curled up in bed, asleep within minutes. Dean barely saw him eat anymore. “I…I don’t know. I’ll talk ask Cas tomorrow.”

 

 

 

 

               Sam sighed softly and leaned back against Cas, dropping his head into the older boy’s shoulder. Cas shifted himself to wrap his arm more tightly around Sam’s waist, glancing down at him when he felt Sam’s warm breath skitter across his collarbone. Sam’s eyes had drifted shut; his dark lashes brushed his pale cheeks and his curls fell across his forehead. He was beautiful. Tired, but beautiful.

               Sam felt Cas staring and his eyes flickered open. Cas was looking down at him, his blue eyes soft and unguarded. Sam chewed on the inside of his lip, unable to meet Cas’s open, honest gaze without feeling sick. “What is it?”

               “What’s wrong, Sam?” Cas gently ran a hand through Sam’s hair, tucking a stray strand behind his ear. Sam was torn between flinching from the tender touch and leaning further into it. “You’ve been…quiet. Distant, lately. What is it?”

               Sam felt the bruises on his sides and hips throb as he shifted against Cas, moving to sit more comfortably. He knew he’d been acting differently, no matter how much he tried not to let on that anything had changed. He didn’t want them to find out about Prose. It was only a few more months until Cas turned eighteen and could leave his family. Sam just had to grit his teeth and bear it.

               _“Why would he even want you after this?” Prose watched Sam tug his jeans back on, his eyes hungrily moving down Sam’s battered body. He grinned with pride when he saw the fresh, angry bite marks peppering Sam’s skin. It sent a rush of heat through him, but he resisted the urge to take Sam again; he’d make himself wait. “If he saw the marks I left on you? I own you, Sammy. He wouldn’t want anything to do with you if he saw that I’ve claimed you.”_

_“You don’t own me,” Sam replied softly, wishing he could inject more conviction in his tone. He couldn’t muster up any sort of emotion after being brutalized like that again, and he knew he wouldn’t feel anything until he was lying in bed that night. He’d gotten good at crying silently so he didn’t wake Dean. He would break if Dean held him while he cried and asked (in that soft, sleepy tone he never used outside of comforting Sam after a nightmare) what the dream had been about. He couldn’t handle it._

_Prose shook his head and smiled at the ground. When he spoke, his voice was loud and condescending. “I think we both know that’s not true. As long as I have that picture, you’ll do whatever I want.”_

_Sam gritted his teeth, but didn’t argue. He pulled on his shirt, wincing when the movement jarred his bruised ribs. He couldn’t argue; as long as Cas was in danger, he would do whatever it took to keep him safe._

_“You haven’t’ told him about our little arrangement, have you?” Prose asked, leaning back in the chair behind his desk. He’d called Sam in during his study hall, smiling charmingly at Sam’s teacher and claiming he needed to work with Sam on some of the plays for this weekend. Sam didn’t look at Prose, refusing to give him a reaction. “You know, Sammy, you’re pretty good at pretending it doesn’t affect you, but I know it does. You certainly react to it.” A red blush crept up Sam’s neck and stained his cheeks. Prose grinned. “So don’t tell me you don’t like it. How could you let him touch you when I’ve already got you? Do you think he wants a damaged slut like you?”_

_Sam ducked his head so his hair hid his shining eyes and swallowed hard, tugging his thick sweatshirt around himself tightly, holding his fist to his mouth and inhaling the scent of the clean fabric pressed to his nose. It was Dean’s sweatshirt, and the hint of the scent of motor oil comforted Sam somewhat. “He’s not…he wouldn’t…”_

_“He has standards,” Prose watch Sam struggle to breathe evenly, a smile spreading across his lips. He had this kid right where he wanted him; doubting himself, scared, and ashamed. “And I think a guy who spreads his legs for his soccer coach is a little below his standards.”_

_Sam shook his head shortly and turned on his heel, starting out of the room as quickly as he could with the throbbing pain between his legs. “You’re wrong.”_

               “Sam?” Cas’s voice cut through the fig the memory left in Sam’s mind. Sam blinked and found himself looking right into Cas’s eyes. The frozen lake was bathed in the low gray light of dusk, and it reflecting off the ice into the cab of the truck, making Cas’s wide eyes seem like they were almost glowing. Cas frowned slightly at him, concerned. Sam watched Cas’s lips move, his chest suddenly empty and feeling desperate for connection when he recalled Prose’s words.

               “Are you--?” Cas’s question was cut off when Sam’s mouth was suddenly covering his.

               Sam put a hand on the side of Cas’s face, running his fingers over the stubble that he hadn’t shaved that morning. It was so wonderfully different from Prose’s smooth cheek pressed against his skin.

               He gripped Cas’s shirt and leaned over him, lowering Cas to lie flat on his back on the front seat under him. Cas’s eyes widened even more in surprise, but he didn’t push Sam off of him. One of Sam’s hands moved to cup the back of his neck and twine through his short, dark locks.

               Sam kissed Cas more deeply, willing the emptiness in his chest to go away, willing Cas to show him he still loved him. Cas’s warm, chapped lips felt good pressed against his, nothing like Prose’s wet, greedy kisses. He moved to straddle Cas’s waist and trailed one hand slowly down Cas’s chest.

               Cas twitched and gripped Sam’s hand when it reached the waist band of his jeans. He pulled his mouth away from Sam’s and gasped, breathless, “What are you doing?”

               “What do you mean?” Sam asked, anxious to kiss Cas again, wanting desperately to feel connected to Cas, to know Cas still loved him. “Just relax, Cas.”

               Cas bit his bottom lip, unsure of where Sam was going with this, but didn’t push Sam away when he sealed his lips over Cas’s again.

               Sam’s lips pressed firmly against Cas’s, more insistent and aggressive than usual. Cas felt Sam’s hands wander lower and lower, and ignored it, allowing Sam to do what he wanted, until he felt Sam’s fingers dip below the waistband of his boxers.

               He pulled away from Sam again and pushed himself up into a sitting position, his back pressed against the driver’s side door. He regarded Sam evaluatingly, his dark eyebrows drawn together, confused by Sam’s actions. “Sam, what are you doing?”

               “I was just…” Sam sat back on Cas’s thighs and sighed in frustration, running his hands through his thick hair. Cas looked up at him with that ridiculous, adorable confused expression, obviously not understand what Sam wanted. “I want you, Cas.”

               “You have me,” Cas replied, his eyebrows drawing together even more. He didn’t understand why Sam suddenly seemed so frustrated with him, or what Sam was talking about. Sam had never pinned him down like that before; Cas didn’t like to feel trapped. Sam knew that.

               “No, I know…” Sam huffed, rubbing his face with his hands and looking away. “Cas, I _want_ you.” His hands wandered back down to Cas’s waistband, curling his fingers around Cas’s belt and tugging Cas closer.

               Cas blinked when he realized what Sam meant. He pulled himself up further to avoid Sam’s probing hands. “You want to sleep with me?”

               Sam nodded firmly, moving to lean over Cas again, bracing himself on the door. Cas looked up at him, his blue eyes wide and helpless.

               Sam didn’t notice. He kissed Cas’s temple, then his cheek, then his mouth again. Cas remained frozen, unsure of what to do. “Please, Cas. Please, I’m begging you. Please…”

               Cas shook his head stiffly, hunching over to make himself smaller. Sam had never asked him to do anything like that before. He knew Cas wasn’t ready. He didn’t understand why Sam was being so pushy now.

               Cas was getting uncomfortable, something he’d never felt around Sam before. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t want to make Sam angry with him. “Sam, you know I can’t…”

               “Why not?” Sam demanded, shifting suddenly from desperate to angry. He pushed himself off of Cas and sat back on his heels. All he wanted was for Cas to make him feel loved, to feel wanted, to fell like he wasn’t a complete fuck-up. He just wanted to be so wrapped up in Cas that he forgot about Prose. “What am I doing wrong? Don’t you love me?”

               “Whether or not I love you has nothing to do with us having intercourse,” Cas replied sharply, watching Sam with concern. Sam shook his head and dropped his face into his hands. “Sam, I do not understand…”

               “Of course you don’t,” Sam snapped, looking up and glaring at Cas with more anger than he had ever directed at Cas before. Cas shrank back under the harsh hazel glare, stunned at the ferocity in Sam’s gaze. “You don’t ever fucking understand anything! That’s what people in relationships do, Cas! If you weren’t such an awkward shut-in you’d know that!”

               Cas gaped at Sam, shocked beyond words. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but wouldn’t make any words come out. His heart twisted painfully. Sam didn’t say things like that. Sam would never…

               Sam stared at him for a few more moments before shaking his head and adding softly, cruelly, “I’m sick of this, I’m sick of you, you fucking freak. If you’re not going to do what I want, just bring me the fuck home.”

               Cas bit the inside of his cheek and set his jaw, ignoring the stinging pain in his chest at Sam’s uncharacteristically harsh words. Something was going on with Sam that was really screwing with him, that much was obvious. Cas wanted to help, he wanted to make whatever was hurting Sam go away, but Sam’s words chipped away at something inside him. He needed to get away from Sam for a little while; he’d be no help to Sam if he was upset and angry. He tried softly, one more time, garnering the last of his patience. “I’m begging you to tell me what’s wrong.”

               Sam didn’t reply. He stared out the window, glaring at the ice like his gaze could melt it if he stared hard enough.       

Cas started the truck, not looking at Sam, and pulled out onto the road. Sam huddled against the opposite door, refusing to look at Cas and not speaking.

 

 

               “Sam?” Dean heard the front door open and shut from his spot on the end of the couch and called his brother’s name.

               He got no reply.

               Dean tensed and rose to his feet, stepping cautiously towards the kitchen. The door had been locked, so it wasn’t as if someone could just walk in. He marginally relaxed when he caught sight of Sam’s mess of chocolate locks from over the open door of the freezer.

               “Hey, Sam,” Dean greeted him with a hopeful smile. Sam and Cas had driven a little over an hour to have dinner in the city where they wouldn’t run into anyone they knew. Dean had been hoping that spending some time with Cas would perk Sam up a little bit, but judging by the scowl Dean saw on Sam’s lips when he straightened up, his hope had been in vain. “How’d it go?”

               “It was fine,” Sam said shortly, pressing an icepack to his side. When he saw Dean eyeing the ice curiously he snapped, “I ran into a street lamp, okay?”

               He tried to push by Dean to the bedroom, but Dean remained planted firmly in the doorway, refusing to budge. Sam growled lowly and elbowed his ribcage. “Dean, I’m tired, let me by.”

               “What’s that?” Dean reached out and tugged the collar of Sam’s sweatshirt aside before Sam could dart away, exposing a raw, red splotch on the junction between Sam’s shoulder and neck. Dean’s eyes widened in surprise. “My God, Sam, did Cas do that?”

               Sam yanked his shirt away from Dean, praying his older brother hadn’t seen any of the other bruises or marks on his skin. His heart rate picked up and he tried to make his fear come off as anger. “Get the hell off of me. It’s none of your business what Cas and I do.”

               Dean raised his eyebrows warningly, still blocking the only exit to the bedroom. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe, his unreadable green gaze fixed on Sam. “Cas has never left a hickey before.”

               “So? How the hell do you know what we’ve done,” Sam snapped impatiently, anxious to slip by Dean and escape to his bed for the night. He was tired, and he was completely upset with himself for pressuring Cas like that just because he’d felt like crap. Cas had said no, and Sam had pushed him anyway, and then guilted him about it and called him a freak.

               He was no better than Prose.

               Sam swiped at his eyes irritably. “Let me go, Dean.”

               “Did you guys fight?” Dean asked, noting Sam’s watering eyes.

               “No,” Sam replied quickly, a deep blush rising up his neck. “Yes. I mean, we just…”

               “Cas can’t stay mad at anyone for long,” Dean shrugged, relieved that’s all it had been. Of course Cas and Sam fought; they were both unrelentingly stubborn. “He’ll be over it by tomorrow.”

               Dean finally moved from the doorway, yawning widely, his back cracking as he stretched.

               Sam took the opening and slipped by Dean. He felt tears stinging at his eyes the second he made it to the living room and took a deep, shuddering breath in anticipation of the sobs climbing up his throat.

               “Hey, Sam, do you know where--?”

               Sam yelped when a hand closed on his shoulder, right over a particularly vivid bruise, unable to stop the small sound from slipping past his lips. Dean, confused by Sam’s reaction, turned Sam to face him so he could get a good look at his shaking baby brother. Sam was panting, chest heaving as he struggled to steady his breathing. His eyes were bright with tears, and he shrank away from Dean as if his brother’s touch burned him.

               “Sam.” Dean said firmly, reasserting his grip on Sam so Sam couldn’t escape into the bedroom and lock the door. The panic and fear in Sam’s eyes sent a cold spike of fear through his stomach. “Sam, what’s wrong?”

               “Don’t touch me,” Sam gasped, his hands scrabbling at Dean’s chest to push himself away from Dean’s calloused hands. His ribs screamed in pain from the movement and he doubled over, clutching his sides tightly. He tried to bite back a low whine.

               “Sammy,” Dean was at Sam’s side in a second, gently wrestling Sam towards the couch and pushing him onto the cushions. He tried to pull off Sam’s shirt, noting the way Sam was holding his ribs like they hurt, but Sam flailed wildly, knocking Dean’s hands away. “Sammy, calm the hell down!”

               Dean managed to get a grip on the hem of Sam’s shirt. He tugged it over Sam’s head, mindful of not jostling Sam too roughly, positive at this point that Sam was hurt somehow. He tossed the shirt aside, and his eyes locked on Sam’s chest. He was stunned and horrified by what he saw.

               Sam’s body was a mottled mess of bruises, ranging from a pale yellow to a dark black. It looked like he’d been punched and hit and kicked over and over, until he could barely stand; Dean was amazed the kid had been able to walk around like that. Dean could make out bruises in the shape of fingers wrapped around Sam’s biceps and disappearing below the waistband of Sam’s worn jeans.

               Dean lightly touched on the of the dark, painful looking marks on Sam’s hip, ignoring Sam struggling fruitlessly to push Dean off of him. Dean’s stomach dropped when he caught sight of the raw teeth marks on Sam’s chest and shoulders.

               The suspicions he’d had when he’d seen the bruises on Sam’s hips solidified in Dean’s mind when his gaze fell on the bite marks. He pushed Sam back onto the couch and gripped his arms firmly but gently, holding Sam there and refusing to let him get away; Sam couldn’t hide this anymore. Dean growled lowly, trying to keep his raging anger out of his voice when he spoke, “Who did this?”

               “It’s nothing,” Sam argued weakly, his voice breaking. He cursed himself for allowing his weakness to get eh best of him. He set his jaw and snapped harshly, “Let go, Dean, let me go right now.”

               “Sam, someone’s hitting you!” Dean’s deep voice rose until it hurt Sam’s ears and Sam had to turn his face away. He couldn’t look at his brother; there was too much concern and love there. He didn’t deserve that. He knew he would crack if he met Dean’s jaded green eyes. “Don’t you fucking dare tell me it’s nothing!”

               Sam gave up trying to escape from Dean’s iron grip, but remained tense under Dean’s hands. He hunched his shoulders, burying his face in his hands. He felt his tears dripping through his fingers and tried to suck in a deep breath; it caught in his throat and his chest heaved. His body hurt, and the steady, deep ache in his chest that hadn’t given him a break for weeks throbbed painfully.

               “Sammy, c’mon, talk to me,” Dean plopped down on  the couch next to Sam, keeping a cautionary grip on Sam’s arm, and placed his free hand on Sam’s back. He rubbed in slow, soothing circles, his heart jumping to his throat when he felt Sam’s shoulders heaving as Sam tried to hold back his deep sobs. “Sammy, tell me who did this. I promise, you won’t have to ever see them again. I’ll kill them, Sammy, I’ll rip their fucking hearts out.”

               Sam shook his head and turned to bury his face in Dean’s chest, his fingers clawing at the thick fabric of Dean’s shirt. Sam’s tears soaked through the soft material, creating a damp, cold spot on Dean’s chest. Dean moved his hand to stroke Sam’s hair gently, tangling his fingers in the thick, curly locks. Small, broken sobs escaped Sam’s lips and tore directly into Dean’s heart.

               Sam was suddenly clinging to him and curling up next to him instead of trying to shove Dean away. Dean hoped that meant he was closer to Sam telling him what was going on, because the bruises on his brother’s body terrified him. Sam was shaking hard, trying to curl up into an even smaller ball. Dean didn’t know what to say to help him, what to do to help him; he wasn’t even sure what exactly had happened to Sammy.

               “Did they…Sammy, did they..?” Dean tried to find the words, but couldn’t make himself say it.

               Sam sobbed loudly and shook his head wildly. “He didn’t, he didn’t, I can’t tell, I can’t…”

               “Sammy, you can tell me,” Dean argued softly, tucking Sam’s head under his chin and rocking him gently, just like he had when Sammy was little. It was a little awkward, with Sam being sixteen and almost fully-grown, but Dean wasn’t going to deny him any sort of comfort; Dean was at a loss for what to do otherwise. Sam clutched at Dean’s shirt, tears coursing down his cheeks. He felt like he was coming apart, like his carefully constructed walls were shattering as he cried in Dean’s warm embrace.

               _“I love you.”_

_“I really thought he was going to kill me this time…”_

_“I’m begging you to tell me what’s wrong!”_

               _“Sammy, what’s wrong?”_

_“You can tell me…”_

“He’ll tell Cas’s family,” Sam choked out breathlessly, his choppy sentences barely coherent through his tears. “I can’t let Cas get hurt, Dean, I can’t, I love him…”

               Dean squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to gather himself. Sam loved Cas. Dean had always known it, but never heard Sam say it. It was different hearing it out loud. Hearing it spoken by Sam in such a clear state of distress, when there was no way he had the presence of mind to be lying, was sobering. Dean pulled Sam closer, still toying with his hair soothingly. He’d kill whoever made his brother hurt like this. “Sammy, Cas will be fine. I promise you. He can stay here, we can leave the state if we need to. I will take both of you and just go if that’s what you want. Just tell me who did this.”

               Sam didn’t reply for a long time, just continued to press against Dean and cry deep, gut wrenching sobs that were bordering hysterical, clinging to his older brother like he never wanted to let go.

               Dean held Sam for a long time. By the time Sam had calmed down to some jerky sniffles and shaky breaths, the moon was high in the sky outside the apartment window, half obscured by the smoggy air the city blew their way. Sam’s eyes drifted shut slowly; he looked exhausted, and crying took a hell of a lot out of a person. Dean cradled Sam to his chest, running his hands through Sam’s tangled locks, gently urging Sam to go to sleep. He looked like crap, and some rest would do him good.

               Sam’s head lolled against Dean’s shoulder, half-asleep already, lulled into a sense of security he hadn’t felt in weeks by his brother’s protective embrace. “S’rry…”

               “Don’t say that,” Dean chided him gently, trying to keep his own voice steady, ignoring the tears that had been pooling steadily in his own eyes. Seeing Sam so distraught and shattered was getting to him. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Sammy. I promise.”

               “How do you know?” Sam muttered, nuzzling his forehead into Dean’s shoulder. “I…You don’t know…what I did for him…what he did to me…”

               Dean set his jaw and looked up at the ceiling so his tears couldn’t fall, focusing on the peeling plaster. “It wasn’t your fault.”

               “Hmmm,” Sam hummed skeptically, his grip on Dean’s shirt loosening slightly as his fingers went lax. “I keep doin’ it…I let ‘im...’s my fault…”

               “You didn’t let him do anything,” Dean snapped. “Unless you said yes without being threatened or blackmailed.”

               “He got a picture…” Sam yawned, nodding off. “After…after practice…caught me in the l’cker r’m…”

               Sam trailed off, asleep before he could finish the thought.

               He didn’t have to. Dean had heard enough.

               Locker room.

               He was going to take care of Sammy, he was going to get him checked out, he was going to help Sammy deal with this and move on, undoubtedly with Cas at his side.

               But first, he was going to kill Andrew Prose.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go! I really hope you liked it.
> 
> I'm thinking a little more Cas and Cas's family next chapter. 
> 
> PLEASE review if you have a second! I really appreciate the time you guys take to leave me a note. It means a lot to me.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: violence, child abuse (physical and sexual), homophobia (implied), language, rape (mentions only)

               Cas ducked his head against the flurries of snow falling from the dark sky as he strode towards the front porch of the house, tugging his sweater more tightly around his slim frame. He was late, really late. He’d dropped Sam off without another word passing between them and started towards his house, but found that his vision was clouding and his hands were shaking too hard for him to safely drive all the way home. He’d pulled off into a gas station parking lot and turned the truck off, plunging the cab into darkness so no one could see him hunch over and gasp into his hands as he tried to hold back the tears stinging the corner of his eyes.

               Sam’s hands wandering lower and lower had unleashed a slew of Cas’s carefully repressed memories from the days when Virgil had lived at home.

               It had taken him the better part of an hour to calm himself down.

               Cas tugged the front door open as quietly as he could. There was a slim chance that Michael was asleep already and wouldn’t know Cas had gotten home past his curfew.

               His hope was sent crashing to the ground when a deep voice came from the kitchen, “Castiel. Come here.”

               Fear gripped at Cas’s heart and twisted it in his chest painfully. He stood frozen in the hallway just past the kitchen doorway, tempted to keep going and try to escape out the back door.

               He shook his head and set his jaw. Running would just make it worse.

               “Castiel!” Michael called again, irritation creeping into his voice. “Do not make me come and get you!”

               Cas gritted his teeth and stepped into the kitchen, clenching his hands into fists behind his back.

               “You’re late,” Michael stated simply, leaning back in his chair. His shirt rode up a little, and Cas sucked in his bottom lip when he caught sight of the thick leather belt holding up Michael’s worn jeans.

               Cas didn’t reply, knowing it would be worse if he tried to make excuses. He ducked his head and kept his gaze locked on the floor.

               “Where were you?” Michael asked calmly, his gaze boring into Castiel. Cas shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot under his penetrating glare.

               Cas tightened his fingers where they were laced together behind his back and answered softly, “I was at the Winchesters. I didn’t realize it was late.”

               “Of course you were with them,” Zachariah muttered, rolling his eyes and flipping the page of the book in his lap. Cas jumped a little, not having realized that Zach was there. Cas’s eyes flickered up to take note of who else was in the room. Lucifer and Balthazar were in the living room with Zach, whatever they had been doing abandoned in favor of watching Michael and Cas. Gabriel was standing at the counter; he’d been making a sandwich, but he’d frozen when Michael started laying into Cas.  

               “I don’t want excuses,” Michael snapped, shooting a glare at Zach. “Your curfew was almost two hours ago.”

               “I’m sorry,” Cas took a step back, and found himself running right into Raphael’s chest. Raphael gripped Cas’s upper arms and pushed him further into the kitchen. Cas tried to shake him off, but Raphael’s grip was too strong. “Michael, please, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

               “You’ve been getting more and more defiant lately,” Michael stood up and undid his belt buckle, pursing his lips and shaking his head sadly. Cas flinched and shrunk back, wrapping his arms around his middle as if that could protect him from Michael’s wrath. “You need to be put back in your place, Castiel. You’ve been neglecting your family and our religion in order to spend more time with your friends.”

               “I have not neglected you, or God,” Cas said softly, panic clawing at his throat as Michael tugged his belt out of the loops on his jeans. “I…I will do better.”

               “Michael, come on,” Lucifer slipped in between Cas and Michael, pushing his younger brother behind him to shield him from Michael. “Something’s wrong. He’s obviously upset. Look at his eyes, he’s been crying. Cut the kid some slack.”

               Michael struck Lucifer across the face with an open palm. Lucifer stumbled back a step before regaining his footing and flailing out at Michael, catching his stomach with his fist. Michael barely flinched. He grabbed Lucifer by the scruff of his neck, tangling his fingers in Lucifer’s hair, his nails digging into Lucifer’s skin until he bled.

Lucifer struggled against Michael’s strong grip, scratching at Michael’s arms wildly. “Let go of me!”

“Don’t try to protect him,” Michael shoved Lucifer towards the counter, hard. Lucifer slammed into the edge of the counter and sank to the ground, clutching his ribs and grimacing in pain.

Michael turned to Castiel, his expression stern, seething with anger. “Your shirt. Off. Now.”

Castiel complied reflexively, shrugging off his jacket and tugging his shirt over his head. He moved mechanically, as if he were on autopilot. He held them loosely in his hands, unsure of what to do with them.

“Here, Cas,” Balthazar took the clothes from Cas, allowing his hands to linger over Cas’s for a few seconds. Cas met his eyes moment before dropping his gaze back to the floor, unable to handle the look of pity and apology he saw in Balthazar’s eyes. Balthazar gripped Cas’s hands tightly through the bundle of fabric for a moment before drawing away and disappearing into the hallway, guilt clawing at his stomach. He couldn’t watch Cas get beaten again, he couldn’t handle it.

Michael folded the belt over and gripped it tightly. He used it to motion to the kitchen table. “Lean over the table, Castiel.”

Cas complied automatically, leaning over the table top and gripping the edges tightly, trying to detach his mind from his body so he could bottle up the pain and deal with it later. He flinched when Michael’s freezing cold hand rested on his shoulder so Michael could brace himself as he lifted the belt.

“Please, Michael…” Cas tried one last time to appeal to his brother’s humanity. “Please…I’m sorry…”

“So am I,” Michael paused for a moment, and Cas tensed, praying that Michael had changed his mind. Michael sighed and squeezed Cas’s shoulder. Dread settled in Cas’s stomach again. “I have to do this, Castiel. I’m the head of the family, and it is my role to punish you when you break the rules. I have no choice. It’s what Dad would do.”

“We don’t know what Dad would do,” Cas gasped, pressing his face into the rough wood, trying to keep the tremor from his voice. “He doesn’t even talk to us anymore. We don’t even know him, not really…”

“Do not speak like that,” Michael’s hand tightened painfully around Cas’s shoulder. Cas’s stomach dropped and he dug his fingernails into the tabletop, shuddering in anticipation. “Dad loves us. He’s just…busy. You were out past curfew. You have to be punished accordingly.”

Despite his best efforts to relax, Cas’s back was knotted and tense when the belt made contact with his already scarred and bruised skin. Cas gritted his teeth and hunched his shoulders, refusing to show any sign of weakness, digging his fingernails into the underside of the table tope where he was gripping it for support.

When Cas was struck for the twentieth time, a low hiss of pain clawed its way up his throat and escaped his chapped lips. Michael didn’t stop, he didn’t even pause, not hesitating as he continued to rain down hard, precise blows on Cas’s pale back, methodical in where he brought the cracked leather down on Cas’s skin.

“Pray, Castiel,” Michael commanded harshly, hitting Cas again, harder this time. The leather bit into his back and made him squirm and gasp in pain. “Pray to God for forgiveness.”

Cas thoughtlessly began the prayer he’d been taught to recite since he was a toddler, desperate for Michael to stop. “I am noth…nothing, I am worth…worthless, I am wrong, I…I am not worthy. I am nothing…I…I am…worthless, I am…am wrong, I am not…not worthy. I deserve to be pun…punished, I deserve to suffer…suffer for every sin I have committed, every…every evil thought I’ve had. I am nothing…I am worthless…I don’t…I don’t deserve the… the love I am given…”

“Good boy,” Michael praised him coldly, bringing the belt down again, and again, and again. “Again.”

“I am nothing…” Cas squirmed and used the last of his strength in his drained muscles to try to pull himself further up the table so Michael wouldn’t be hitting the same spots over and over. Michael easily adjusted his grip on Cas’s shoulder and pushed him back down without halting in his beating. “I am worth…worthless…”

He yelped when the belt hit an already sensitive patch of skin and split it open.

“I am… Michael, please, please, I’m sorry…” Cas gasped, tears pooling in his eyes and falling down his cheeks. He thought he’d cried himself dry in the truck, but the wet tracks curving down his face begged to differ. He was used to physical pain, he could usually compartmentalize it well, but he’d been pushed into this beating feeling exhausted and vulnerable. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Cas realized that at that point he was literally sobbing into his arms, his body heaving and convulsing, his chest hitching as he struggled to draw in breath through his tears, but he couldn’t manage to calm himself down.

He wanted this to stop. He wanted Sam to be okay, to hear Sam say I love you again. He wanted to spend the next few days at the Winchesters, curled up on the floor next to Sam’s bed when they went to sleep, but waking up wrapped tightly in Sam’s arms on his bed, surrounded by warmth and comfort and safety that Sam provided without fail. He wanted, selfishly, for Sam to put aside his own problems to hold Cas close and whisper soothingly to him, to promise him they would be alright.

Cas let out a moan of pain and struggled to support his own weight, relying on his grip on the table to keep him from collapsing in a heap on the floor. “I am…I am noth…nothing…”

“Michael!”

The blows suddenly stopped, and Cas sagged against the table, grateful for the respite, however short it might last.

Balthazar had returned to the kitchen, unable to block out the sound of Cas’s wrecked, broken voice as he sobbed the mantra over and over. He yanked the belt out of Michael’s hand and stepped away quickly, careful to remain beyond striking distance. He clutched the belt tightly and looked up at Michael beseechingly. “Michael, that’s enough. Look at him. He’s a mess, he’s crying, he looks like death warmed over. You’re just making it worse.” Cas choked on a sob and shuddered, weakly clawing at the table top with his broken finger nails to try to distract himself from the fire burning in his back.

Michael glared at Balthazar and held out his hand. “Give that back and go to your room.”

Balthazar pointed at Cas’s bloody, slumped form, his fingers clenching the belt so tightly his knuckles were white. “I SAID LOOK AT HIM!”

Michael took a deep breath and stepped closer to Balthazar, looming over him threateningly. He snatched the belt from Balthazar’s hand and spoke, his voice dangerously low. “He deserves this for disobeying me. If you do not go to your room right now and remain there for the rest of the night, I will continue to beat him as your punishment until he’s nothing but a shaking, bloody heap on the floor. Do you understand me?”

Balthazar stared up at Michael, defiance and fear warring in his dark eyes. He was torn between defending Cas and running the risk of causing him more pain.

“Go,” Cas choked out, pressing his face harder into his arms. “Please, go…”

Balthazar nodded shortly and retreated out of the kitchen, rubbing his eyes irritably.

Cas gave in to the weakness coursing through his body and collapsed to the ground, huddling into a small ball to protect himself from Michael’s wrath. His back screamed with pain, but he ignored it in favor of curling up more tightly into himself.

Michael gripped Cas’s biceps and pulled Cas to his feet. He pretty much had to hold his younger brother up. Cas looked up at him with hooded, tear-filled blue eyes that begged and pleaded for Michael to stop. Michael pursed his lips and looked away, unable to handle meeting his vulnerable, broken gaze. “Kneel in front of the fireplace and pray the rosary all the way through once. Then I’ll set you up by the radiator.”

“Yes,” Cas nodded, his shoulders slumping in relief when he realized Michael had finished for the night. He wasn’t looking forward to spending the night curled up on the hard floor with a back that was one giant bruise, but he’d take that over more lashes from the belt any day. “Thank you. Thank you…”

 

Cas shifted uncomfortably on the cold wood floor, curling up and pulling the thin, threadbare blanket tighter around his shoulders. He winced when the blanket dug into the open wounds that punctuated the ones that had scabbed over already.

His body jerked reflexively when he felt something cold and hard press against his arm.

Cas huddled closer to the radiator, moving his hand so the cuff didn’t cut too deeply into his wrist. Inias had plopped down next to Cas and placed a glass of water on the floor in front of him. He was regarding Cas distantly, his eyes hazy and showing no sign of recognition for his older brother. Cas was used to it by then, but sometimes it couldn’t help but hurt that the baby brother he’d taken care of his whole life could barely even remember his name. Now though, he couldn’t help but feel a little grateful then for Inias’s blank stare; he couldn’t handle Gabriel’s weak attempts at humor or Balthazar’s pity.

Cas gingerly picked up the glass of water and brought it to his lips. It was knocked from his hand before he could take a drink, and the glass was sent rolling across the kitchen floor until it came to a stop under the table.

Cas dropped his gaze to the floor. “Inias, that wasn’t good.”

Inias didn’t reply, not that Cas expected him to. Cas didn’t know what his intention had been in bringing him the water just to knock it away, but it probably made perfect sense to Inias. Cas ached to pull his brother close and hold him, desperate for positive human contact, but he knew it would just upset Inias. He remembered when Inias had been little; he had developed normally until he was almost two years old. He’d trailed after Cas everywhere, constantly tugging at Cas’s sleeve to be picked up, or to get his attention, babbling and talking about everything he saw happily. Then he’d very suddenly stopped talking, refusing to say the words and phrases his family had so painstakingly taught him. Soon after, he’d started throwing tantrums when someone tried to pick him up or touch him, or if he was given he wrong glass or if his food was touching. His eyes started to focus on other things while he was being spoken to, usually something beyond the person talking.

               _“Michael?”_

_Michael glanced up from where he was hunched over his Bible at his desk. He made a note in the margin, marked his page, and looked up to see Castiel standing in the doorway, fidgeting uncomfortably and tugging at the sleeves of his thick sweater. “What is it?”_

_“I have to talk to you,” Castiel stated obviously, his eyes cast to the floor. He shifted his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably. “I…I am growing concerned about Inias.”_

_Michael sighed and leaned back in his chair, regarding Castiel carefully. He motioned for Castiel to take a seat on the bed. He’d seen how Castiel was becoming more and more concerned with Inias’s behavior lately, and he’d been expecting Castiel to talk to him about it at some point. Castiel hesitantly entered the room and perched on the edge of the mattress, ready to bolt at the first sign of anger from Michael._

_Michael leaned forward and met Castiel’s wide, too-innocent blue eyes steadily. “Castiel, Inias will be fine. We will take him to a priest this weekend. I believe he has some sort of evil in him, and it will not be difficult to get rid of it.”_

_“Are you suggesting an exorcism?” Castiel asked softly, his heart jumping to his throat. He’d been dragged along to see an exorcism preformed before; they were terrifying and overwhelming. He didn’t want Inias to go through that. He was pretty sure that Inias couldn’t handle something like that, not with the way he’d been acting lately. “Michael, I don’t think…”_

_“No, you don’t,” Michael cut him off sharply, his tone leaving no room for discussion or interruption. Castiel pressed his lips shut and ducked his head obediently. “I’m the one who does the thinking in this family, and Inias is going to a priest. We will fix him.”_

_Castiel nodded shortly, keeping his eyes on his fingers knotted together on his lap. He knew that this was how the conversation would go, but a small part of him had had hope that Michael would listen to him for once._

_He’d been stupid for even entertaining the idea._

 

“Cas.”

Cas twitched and his eyes flickered open when he heard his name being hissed softly. He sat up a little bit, wincing and pausing to take a deep breath every few seconds. The dark room slowly came into focus, and after a few moments, he could make out Lucifer crouching in front of him, a shabby backpack slung over his shoulder. Cas squinted at him, confused. “Lucifer, what..?”

“I’m leaving,” Lucifer replied gruffly, hiking up the backpack on his shoulder. He glanced around the silent house, listening closely for the sound of someone waking up.

“Why are you telling me this?” Cas asked, growing more and more confused as Lucifer spoke. Most of them left for ways or even weeks at a time to avoid Michael and stayed with friends. It was not out of the ordinary. However, Lucifer’s voice sounded odd; nervous and laced with anticipation. “I do not understand…”

“I’m leaving, Castiel,” Lucifer repeated, before adding softly, “For good. I’m not coming back home.”

Cas stared at him for a few moments stunned and not speaking, unable to find the words to say.

               Lucifer winced slightly as he looked at Cas, his eyes trailing down from Castiel’s wide eyes that almost seemed to glow in the darkness of the kitchen to his hunched battered. It almost physically hurt him to look at Castiel. His back was an unbandaged, untreated mess that was going to give him even more scars; he wouldn’t be able to lean back in a chair for a couple weeks. He had a nasty bruise forming on his cheek and his lip was split, though it had halted its sluggish bleeding. Lucifer had always had trouble looking into Castiel’s eyes for more than a few seconds; they were too jaded and wary to belong to someone so young. Now, they were just blank and distant, hazy with pain and fatigue.

               Castiel was seventeen years old. He was a just a kid. He didn’t deserve the crap that had been thrown at him.

               Lucifer sighed and dropped his gaze to the floor, his face flushing with shame. “You have to come with me.”

               Castiel shook his head immediately, finding his voice. “I can’t.”

               Lucifer chanced a look up and found himself looking directly into Castiel’s clouded blue eyes. He had to look away again quickly, and he nodded. He’d been sure Castiel wouldn’t leave with him, but he had to try. “When I’m gone, Michael will be even worse to you. We’re the black sheep of the family now, Castiel. He will keep hurting you.”

               Cas squeezed his eyes shut and ducked his head. His hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. “I can’t leave. I can’t leave Inias, Balthazar, Gabriel, the younger kids…I can’t leave Dean, I can’t leave… can’t leave…” Cas’s voice broke and he swallowed hard, unable to force himself to say Sam’s name.

               Lucifer reached out and rested a hand in Castiel’s sweaty, tangled hair, gently massaging the dark locks with his rough fingers. “Sam.”

               Cas nodded without looking up, instinctively bracing himself for a blow. Lucifer continued to rub his hair gently, trying to soothe him. “Castiel, it’s alright. Don’t listen to Michael. Do what you want. Sam’s cute. Hey, if he wasn’t taken, I’d move in on that.”

               Cas smiled weakly, glancing up at Lucifer, slightly stunned by the admission. Lucifer sighed and reluctantly drew his hand away from Cas. “You’re not wrong, Castiel. There is nothing wrong with you.”

               Cas sucked on his bottom lip and wiped at his eyes tiredly. They were burning with fatigue and unshed tears. Michael would be furious when Lucifer didn’t come home. Gabriel would be heartbroken; he and Lucifer had always been close. He scrubbed his mouth with his hand and cleared his throat decisively. “Go. Go before he wakes up.”

               Lucifer nodded and rose to his feet, clutching the strap of his bag tightly and glancing around the room. “I…you’ll regret not coming with me, Castiel. I could help you. There will be other guys.”

               Cas shook his head and looked down at his hands, staring blankly past the torn fingernails and deep bruises decorating his wrists. He thought of Sam’s wide smile that showed off his dimples, his hair flopping into his eyes as he looked down at Cas with a gaze filled with admiration and tenderness, the rage and fear that had flashed across his face when Cas had demanded what was wrong with him lately, and Cas’s heart twisted painfully and warmed at the same time. “I love him.”

               Lucifer bit the inside of his cheek and nodded shortly. He reached out impulsively and ruffled Castiel’s hair once more, tangling his fingers in the dark locks. He drew back after a moment and turned away, striding towards the front door. He pushed it open and stepped out onto the front porch, sucking in a breath of the cold, icy air that left a sting deep in his lungs. He paused for a moment, leaning with his hand on the doorjamb, and spoke softly, so softly Castiel almost couldn’t hear him. “Goodbye.”

 

Joshua groaned when the phone rang, and reached out to grab it from his bedside table, blinking blearily. He glanced at the clock next to his bed. It read 3:45.

He hit the answer button without bothering to check the caller ID; Dad was the only one who ever called anyway.

“Yeah, Dad?” he mumbled into the phone, rolling onto his side, settling in to fall back asleep the second this conversation ended.

“Josh?” a male voice asked gruffly, loud and urgent in Joshua’s ear. Joshua cringed and held the phone further away from his ear. Only one person had the balls to call him Josh. “Josh, I need to talk to Cas.”

“Cas is on lock down tonight,” Joshua replied, yawning, recalling the low sobs and repressed screams of pain and anguish that had been coming from the kitchen all night. Michael must have been really pissed; he only handcuffed them to the radiator in the front hall when he was beyond furious. “He can’t talk.”

“Damn it…” Dean cursed under his breath. He sounded weird, kind of stuffy and slurred. “Josh…Joshua. Please, please, get Cas the phone. I—“

Joshua started when the phone was plucked from his hand. He glanced up and saw Gabriel standing over him, pressing the phone to his ear. He didn’t bother trying to get it back; Dean Winchester could handle his own problems, Joshua really couldn’t care less.”

“I’ll get him out,” Gabriel said into the phone softly, clenching his hands into tight fists at his side. “He needs to be bandaged up. I think I can get him to his car.”

“How bad is he hurt?” Dean asked, concern lacing through his voice. He recognized the new voice as Gabriel’s, and he almost cried with relief. “Should he be driving? Can he?”

Gabriel sighed, rubbing his forehead with his free hand tiredly. “He’s gonna have to.”

 

 

Dean hung up the phone and tossed it to the side. It bounced on the mattress once before flying off the edge of the bed and landing on the floor with a loud crack. Sam jolted a little bit at the sound, reflexively curling up into a tighter ball under the mound of comforters Dean had tucked around him.

Dean reached out deliberately and placed a hand on Sam’s back. He started rubbing small, soothing circles, like he did when Sam had nightmares. Sam initially stiffened at the contact, but slowly, Dean felt his body relax under his soft touch. Sam pressed his face into the sheets, sniffling loudly. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth to breathe, the desperate whines clawing at his throat would escape and he’d start crying again.

Dean felt Sam’s chest hitch as he struggled to breathe evenly. “It’s alright, Sammy. Let me handle it, okay? I got it. You don’t have to hold all that by yourself anymore.”

Sam’s fingers curled into the sheets. Dean stroked Sam’s hair and shifted closer when Sam rolled towards him and nuzzled against his side. Sam untangled his fingers from the bedspread and moved them to the hem of Dean’s shirt, reasserting their grip just as tightly. “Cas is on his way, alright?”

“He can’t…he can’t…Dean, you can’t tell him,” Sam gasped desperately into Dean’s shirt. “It’s…disgusting…it’s all…all my fault…”

“Stop,” Dean said sharply, clenching his free hand into a fist and gritting his teeth. He was going to kill Andrew Prose, he was going to fucking kill him. “You’re not disgusting and it’s not your fault, Sammy. Cas is worried about you. He…he…” Dean managed to choke out the word, not used to saying it out loud. “Loves you. He loves you. He’d never think any less of you for something like this. It is not your fault.”

Sam’s fingers dug harder into Dean’s side, hard enough to hurt, but it never crossed Dean’s mind to ask him to loosen his grip. Sam was hurt, ashamed, and scared; Dean couldn’t even fathom the emotions Sam was feeling right now.

Dean rubbed his face with his hand, overwhelmed and exhausted. Sam was hurt, Sam was being abused, molested, _raped_ by a man who was supposed to be a role model for boys Sam’s age. Cas had gone home to a beating (which had been happening often lately, too often, Dean’s mind whispered) that had apparently left him in too much pain to get to the phone. They were both a fucking mess physically; neither of them had been sleeping, neither of them had been eating right, and both of them were covered inn fresh bruises made by hands that were supposed to protect and care for them, not humiliate and hurt them.

It made Dean sick. His stomach twisted at the thought of Sam, his innocent, kindhearted, well-intentioned baby brother, having his innocence brutally ripped away from him. The vice around his heart clenched tighter when he thought of Cas being whipped and screamed at and demeaned by his own family to the point where he thought he was worthless.

He swallowed hard and tried to quell his rage, wary of scaring Sam away. He took a deep breath and said calmly, “Sammy, Cas will understand. You don’t think that about him, do you?”

“Of course not,” Sam shook his head quickly, frowning and sucking on his bottom lip. His hair fell into his eyes, sticking to the dried tears on his cheeks. His eyes were red and swollen and his bottom lip was quivering slightly. Dean’s heart ached when he saw how _young_ Sammy looked. He was young. He was sixteen, for fuck’s sake; he shouldn’t be this broken.

“So why would he think it about you?” Dean pushed Sam’s bangs out of his face, tearing the locks from the dried salt on his cheeks. “Don’t be stupid, okay? Talk to him, talk to me, whatever. I promise you, Sammy, this guy will not touch you again, not if Cas and I have anything to say about it.”

“Promise?” Sam asked softly.

Dean almost broke; he blinked back the tears stinging the corners of his eyes. Sam sounded so weak, so young, so _scared_ … Dean cleared his throat and nodded stiffly, rubbing his fingers gently against Sam’s scalp. “Promise.”

 

Cas flinched when he felt a hand on his back and hissed in pain.

“Sorry, bro,” Gabriel’s voice muttered in his ear. He felt Gabriel fiddling with the handcuffs and hope stirred in his chest. “Hold still. Dean Winchester called, sounds like they need you over there.”

“What happened?” Cas murmured, concern flashing through his half lidded eyes. His heart leapt to his throat as his mind immediately ran through the worst possibilities of why Dean would be calling in the middle of the night.

Gabriel grunted and worked at the lock with the rough copy of the key. They’d swiped the real one from Michael and had a copy made a few years ago, just in case, but it wasn’t easy to get the copy to turn the lock. “I don’t know. You just need to get out of here, now.”

The key finally turned and the cuff loosened around Cas’s wrist. He brought the sore wrist to his chest and rubbed at it with his other hand, trying to restore full circulation to his hand. He felt Gabriel’s arms slide under his armpits, and he was easily hefted to his feet and pushed towards the door. He stumbled and caught himself on the frame, closing his eyes for a moment when the room starting spinning wildly.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, carefully touching the area with the least damage. Gabriel held the door for him and gently pushed him outside, stuffing Cas’s keys into his hands. “Stay away from here for a week or so. Michael needs time to cool down.”

Cas looked up at Gabriel, gratitude shining in his dazed eyes. “Thank you.”

Gabriel pursed his lips and nodded, rolling his eyes. He motioned to Cas’s truck sharply. “Yeah, yeah, write me a poem later. Get out of here.”

 

 

Dean carefully untangled himself from Sam when he heard a series of rapid knocks on the front door. Sam mumbled something incoherently, half asleep. Dean had been trying to coax him to sleep half the night now, but Sam seemed unable to close his eyes without seeing whatever horror was painted on the inside of his eyelids.

“I’ll be right back,” Dean promised gruffly, moving across the bedroom. He left the door open, just in case Sam needed him, and went to peer through the peephole of the front door of the apartment.

Cas was standing outside the door, leaning heavily on the frame. He looked like he was barely holding himself up, and Dean caught sight of the dried blood on his chin and a nasty looking bruise on his cheek. Dean pulled open the door and hauled him inside without a word, easily taking most of Cas’s slight weight and dragging him towards the bedroom.

“Dean…” Cas murmured, dragging his heels in the carpet and forcing Dean to stop for a moment. Dean turned to face him and raised an eyebrow, trying not to panic about whether or not Sam was alright. Sam was right in the next room. He was okay. He was safe. “Dean…I…what happened?”

“Sam…” Dean’s voice broke, and he cleared his throat, irritated, before he could continue. “Sam was…Cas, man, his soccer coach…he’s been messing with him.”

“What?” Cas’s eyebrows drew together in confusion, not understanding the phrase.

Dean pressed on, gripping Cas’s arms tightly, feeling less and less in control of himself by the minute. Cas looked like crap, he couldn’t stand on his own, he was obviously on the verge of passing out, and Dean selfishly wanted to share this burden with him. He had to. He couldn’t keep it to himself, and he was afraid Sam would never tell. “He touched him, Cas, he raped him, man…oh, God…oh, God…”

Dean let go of Cas and covered his face with his hands, his fingers finding tears curving down his cheeks. The word made it seem way too real. He tried to take a deep breath and stop himself, but it caught halfway through, and his tears just came harder. “Cas…God, I…I don’t know what to do…I don’t know what to say to him…He’s fucking terrified…”

Cas suddenly straightened up and stumbled into the bedroom on his own, seemingly determined to do something. Dean started after him, but paused in the doorway to let them have some space.

Cas collapsed on the edge of Sam’s bed and reached out to touch Sam’s shoulder, to warn him that he was there. Sam twitched and rolled over so he could look up at Cas, his eyes wide and filled with fear of rejection and dread. He expected Cas to lay into him, to scream at him for letting himself be taken advantage of, for trying to pressure him into sex when he obviously wasn’t ready, for being a disgusting, useless, whore…

“I love you,” Cas said softly, leaning over Sam ad pressing his lips to the younger man’s forehead.

Sam stared at him, shocked and wary. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting. He fiddled with the blankets, trying to give himself something to look at besides Cas’s honest and vulnerable expression. “Don’t.”

“He can’t change that,” Cas said softly, adjusting himself so he could pull Sam into his arms and hold him closely, burying his face in Sam’s hair. Sam tensed in his arms, but Cas didn’t let go.

Cas knew what it felt like. He understood. And as much as he’d felt disgusting and unworthy of anyone’s kind touch after Virgil’s visits to him in the middle of the night, part of him had desperately wanted to be held and taken care of and told it was going to be okay, to be reassured that someone still loved him.

He wasn’t going to let Sam stew in self-hatred alone.

Sam slowly but surely relaxed into Cas’s embrace, even going as far as moving to wrap his arms around Cas’s waist and press his forehead into Cas’s chest. Dean watched Sam unravel completely in Cas’s arms, allowing himself to fully relax into the feeling of safety and love Cas was surrounding him with. Cas trailed his fingers up and down Sam’s back lightly, tracing words and symbols Dean didn’t recognize, but it seemed to calm Sam down.

They were both horribly, painfully broken. With Sam wrapped in his arms then, the empty feeling in Cas’s chest faded; for the first time in months, Sam was letting himself be honest and vulnerable, and Cas finally felt like he was really seeing Sam again, not just his defensive walls.

Dean knew as well as Cas that this wasn’t going to be easy. There would be times Sam didn’t want anyone touching him, looking at him, even in the same room as him, and Dean and Cas would have to bear with him and learn as they went. Sam would be angry and moody and retreat into himself until he snapped and lashed out at them, scared and uncertain. It would be hell, but Sam would get better.

Sam had to get better.

Dean sagged against the wall and sank to the floor, burying his head in his knees and letting his tears flow unchecked. He gripped his calves tightly and tried to muffle the sound of his tears by pressing his mouth into his knees.

Sam had to be okay again. He had to be, because if Sam couldn’t work through this and they lost him, Dean didn’t know what would happen to Cas. Dean didn’t know what would happen to him.

Sam and Cas were his everything, his family, his reason.

He felt like the comfortable little family they’d made for themselves was being torn apart at the seams, and he was struggling to keep it together by himself, to keep Sam and Cas from being taken away from him or hurt anymore.

And the thought of not being able to save them from this hell was a nightmare.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go!
> 
> I hope you liked it. Let me know what you thought (I have school and work tomorrow, so reviews would literally make my day). I really do appreciate it if you have a minute.
> 
> Next chapter (I think): John finds out, Dean is pissed, Cas has some decisions to make, and Sam doesn't know what to do or who to believe anymore.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS: language, mentions of sexual abuse, mentions of physical abuse, slash.

               John stumbled the last few steps to the apartment and caught himself on the door before he fell. The dim light of dawn filtered in through the curtains at the end of the hall, casting a gray glow over the hallway. John squinted against the low light and fumbled for the doorknob.

               His clumsy hands managed to turn the knob and push open the door, and he stumbled inside, closing and locking it behind him. The apartment was completely silent; John didn’t hear Sam or Dean moving around. He glanced at the clock; 6:30 a.m. John had thought they had to get to school at 7:30, or something like that. Anyway, they should definitely be up by now.

               He shuffled over to the bedroom door and flung it open. The light from the living room spilled into the bedroom. Dean shot up in bed, blinking blearily and looking around wildly for the source of the sudden light and noise. He squinted his eyes and tensed when he saw Dad looming over them, his broad frame filling the doorway.

               Dean glanced over at Sam’s bed reflexively. His stomach dropped when he saw Cas in Sam’s bed as well, holding Sam tightly as they slept. Both of them looked more relxed then they had in weeks; Sam’s expression was peaceful as he clung to Cas, his fingers curling against Cas’s chest. Dean hadn’t noticed last night that Cas wasn’t wearing a shirt; he’d been too distraught by Sam’s admission to really pay attention. Now, he saw the fresh scabs on Cas’s back that had grown over the long, thin lines that crisscrossed over his bruised skin.

               John followed Dean’s gaze to Sammy’s bed. His heart jumped to his throat and white anger flared in his chest when he saw Castiel.

               In bed.

               With Sammy.

               “Dean,” John managed to keep his voice calm and low. He motioned for his oldest to stand up. Dean complied without hesitation, just as he always did.

               Just as he’d been trained to.

               John went on quietly. “I need you to go out into the kitchen for a second.”

               Dean stiffened and set his jaw. “Dad…”

               “That’s an order, Dean,” John said sharply, jabbing his finger at the kitchen. “I can’t believe you would let this happen. I’m disappointed in you.”

               “They didn’t do anything,” Dean spoke up, taking a reluctant step towards the door, anxious to carry out Dad’s orders. “Dad, Sam’s hurt. He’s…he…”

               Dean paused when he heard the bedsprings squeak across the room. Their voices had woken Cas, and he instinctively tightened his arms around Sam protectively.

               “Get him out of here,” John commanded softly, glaring at Cas.

               Dean hesitated for a moment, torn between following his father’s orders and the fact that Sam looked calmer and more relaxed then he had in weeks while he was curled up next to Cas.

               Cas blinked blearily and pushed himself into a sitting position, letting the sheets fall and pool around his waist. Dean winced; his back was a mess of sores and scabs, and it had to be painful for him to move. Sam shifted slightly, feeling Cas sit up, and turned to nuzzle his face into Cas’s side, seeking the warmth and protection Cas offered.

               “Cas,” Dean spoke softly, figuring it would be in everyone’s best interest if he got Cas out of the room as soon as possible. “You should let me look at your back.”

               Cas eyed John warily, suspicious of what he planned to do to Sam. He tightened his fingers around Sam’s hand. “He is tired, and he’s hurt. I’m not leaving him to be—“

               “He’s my son,” John snarled, his upper lip curling with distaste. “And I’ll discipline him how I think I should.”

               Cas flinched slightly at those words and looked away for a moment, trying to gather his muddled and tangled thoughts. “He…I think…”

               “Seriously,” Dean gripped Cas’s elbow and tugged insistently, seeing the rage seething beneath his father’s false calm. “Cas, Sam will be fine. He…he needs to talk to Dad anyway.”

               Dean tried to convey to Cas what he was trying to say. Sam had to tell Dad about what Prose was doing. He wouldn’t want an audience. This could be Sam’s chance. Cas seemed to understand, because he rose to his feet, gently running his fingers through Sam’s hair and tangling them in the thick locks. Sam’s nose scrunched up slightly, and that’s how Cas knew he was starting to wake up.

               Dean kept his grip on Cas’s elbow and led the younger boy out of the bedroom. As he walked by Dad, Dean paused and held up a hand warningly, meeting his Dad’s gaze steadily. “If you say anything to upset him, anything at all…” Dean left the rest unspoken, knowing that Dad would understand with him having to spell it out for him.

               John pursed his lips and didn’t bother replying.

               Sam had woken up by now, and he watched Dean drag Cas out of the room with a growing feeling of dread in his stomach. He gathered the blankets tighter around himself and watched Dad where he stood in the doorway, his heart in his throat. He felt slightly better than he had lately (though that wasn’t saying much). He’d managed to sleep, and thought he still had dark suspicions he couldn’t help lurking in his mind about Dean and Cas thinking he was a disgusting whore _(“You’re not a whore, Sam,what he’s doing is wrong, what he does to you is wrong, but you’re not, babe…)_ , he felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest.

               “Sam,” Dad sighed deeply and shut the door behind Dean and Cas. Sam’s breath shortened slightly, and he chastised himself; Dad would never touch him. He was being ridiculous. “We need to have a talk.”

 

 

               Cas winced as Dean dabbed at the cut on his lip with a disinfectant wipe. Dean’s jaw tightened and he pressed on, knowing it would be better to just get it over with rather than drag this out. He’d already disinfected and tightly bandaged Cas’s back as well as he could, but it barely seemed to help with the pain Cas was feeling. He was instinctively curling in on himself, trying to protect himself from something; maybe he was, Dean mused, tossing the bloody wipe into the trash. Cas had a hell of a lot to run from.

               “Anna…Anna never liked Sam,” Cas broke the silence after a few long minutes. Dean froze as he repacked the first aid kit, startled at the mention of Cas’s sister. “She thought we were too close. I think she knew.” Cas sighed and leaned forward, rubbing his face with his hands. “The night she…she died…she was complaining about him. I told her to stop. She was in the middle of her sentence when the truck hit us.”

               Dean dropped the gauze into the first aid box and sighed softly, unsure of what to say or do. Cas hadn’t mentioned Anna in months, hadn’t wanted to talk about her after she died. He’d gotten out of the crash with a few scratches and nerves ripped to shreds. “Cas…”

               “She was asking me if I liked him,” Cas ignored Dean, staring down at the ground and recalling the way Anna’s eyes had flickered over to him for a split second, just for a moment, before the car had been illuminated by oncoming headlights and everything was white and red and screaming and wet, ragged breaths. Cas squeezed his eyes shut and sucked on his bottom lip. “And I was…I was going to tell her that I loved him. But she…the car was…I never got the chance. For that second, though, it felt so…so good that someone in my family knew. That someone in my family loved me anyway.”

               Dean hovered over the chair next to Cas’s, unsure of what to do. He felt like he should offer some kind of hug, some kind of physical reassurance, but couldn’t bring himself to do it.

               Cas laughed softly, bitterly, staring down at his bandaged palms. “Dean, I don’t feel like that anymore. They can’t know. If I’m going to keep Sam safe from them, they can never find out. He is more important. He deserves better than me, he deserves better than this. His soccer coach, Dean, his soccer coach…” tears dripped from between Cas’s fingers and fell to the floor. He didn’t look up. “I just want him to be safe, I just want him to be happy. Is that wrong? Why do people think it’s wrong?”

               Dean shook his head and swallowed hard, ignoring the stinging feeling in his eyes. He replied hoarsely, “I…I don’t know, Cas.”

               Cas bit his bottom lip and shook his head. He breathed deeply, taking a moment to collect himself. Sam needed him right now; he did not have the luxury of breaking down. He tried to clear his head. “Sam has to tell someone.”

               “He might tell Dad,” Dean muttered, sinking into the chair next to Cas and glancing at the bedroom door. Dad was speaking, his voice muffled; Dean wouldn’t make out what he was saying. “He won’t…we can’t go to the cops.”

               A muscle in Cas’s jaw jumped. Dean shrugged. He knew it drove Cas insane, but they couldn’t have Child Protective Services getting involved. They already got enough visits from the school social worker who was concerned by Sam’s seemingly absent father. Sam couldn’t get taken away from them  and put in a foster home; who knows what could happen to him.

               Dean’s stomach twisted when he realized that whatever he’d been worried about happening to Sammy at a foster home was happening now, on his watch. “We can take care of this.”

               “How?” Cas asked, dropping his hands from his face and looking up at Dean with tired, shadowed eyes. “We can’t be with him all the time. He has to go to class.”

               “He can quit soccer, for one thing,” Dean snarled, turning away from Cas and leaning on the counters, gripping the edge so hard his knuckles turned white. “He’s not going back there.”

               “Prose will find another kid,” Cas pointed out. He tangled his fingers together in his lap and cracked his knuckles, taking pleasure in hearing the familiar crunching sound and the relief in the tense muscles of his hands. “We have to tell—“

               “Stop it, Cas,” Dean cut him off, tightening his fingers around the edge of the counter. “It’s Sam’s choice. I think he deserves that.”

               Cas pursed his lips and sagged down in the chair, trying to ignore the aches and pains in his joints from curling up on the hard floor for half the night. He strained to hear Sam and John in the next room, but couldn’t make out anything beyond the low rumble of John’s voice. He didn’t sound angry, which Cas was trying to take as a good sign; however, he was all too used to Raphael’s quiet brand of anger, and couldn’t help but worry for Sam. “We...what if…what if he gets sick?”

               Dean’s back tensed. “What do you mean?”

               “I mean what if Prose has…has something,” Cas choked on the words, but felt he had to point it out. “If he wasn’t…If he wasn’t protected…”

               “Oh my…” Dean’s heart leapt to his throat. “Damn it…damn it…” He rubbed his face with his hands and sagged against the counter, feeling too drained and tired to hold himself up anymore.

               Cas leaned forward on the table and buried his face in his hands, his chest hitching as he struggled to hold back tears. He could hear Sam in the next room, speaking quietly, his voice hoarse and weak. He had no idea how to fix this. He felt a familiar feeling of helplessness seep deep into his chest and twist around his heart. 

               The bedroom door suddenly flew open and Sam came storming out, his hair a rumpled mess and tugging a thick sweater over his t-shirt. It was one of Cas’s; it was a hand-me-down from Gabriel that was big on Cas, but it fit Sam well. Sam rubbed his face with his hands and snapped angrily, “Just leave me alone, Dad!”

               “Don’t walk away from me, Sam!” Dad growled, striding into the living room behind Sam. “I am giving you an order.”

               “I’m not going to play indoor soccer,” Sam whirled around on his heel and crossed his arms, glaring up at John defiantly from under his tangled bangs. “Once soccer ends, I’m not going anywhere near that locker room ever again.”

               “That’s not for you to decide,” John retorted. “I’m your father, and I am signing you up for soccer again this winter. Andrew thinks it will be good for you. You have talent, and he wants to help you take advantage of it.”

               “That’s not what he’d taking advantage of!” Sam blurted out, red creeping up his neck and spreading in his pale cheeks. The second the words slipped through his lips, his eyes widened and his hand flew to cover his mouth.

               Sam’s words seemed to stop John in his tracks. He blinked, stunned by Sam’s words. “What?”

               “Nothing,” Sam muttered, turning away from John and wrapping his arms around his middle, like he was trying to protect himself.

               “No, Sam, what did you mean?” John demanded, reaching out to grip Sam’s shoulder and turn his youngest back to look at him. Sam flinched and jerked away from his dad’s grip, winching slightly when the action jarred his bruised ribs. “What are you trying to say?”

               “I’m not…” Sam tried to backtrack, panic flashing through his eyes as he stepped back from John, shaking his head insistently. “I didn’t mean to…”

               “No, Sam, I think you meant to,” John’s voice grew low and dangerous. He advanced on Sam, his expression darkening. “Drop the attitude, Sam. Lying about it won’t help.”

               “Lying?” Sam spluttered, shocked. “What do you mean, lying?”

               A muscle in John’s jaw jumped. “Are you really so desperate for attention that you would lie about something like that?”

               Sam’s jaw went slack, and he tried to speak, but was unable to find the words.

               “Dad,” Dean cut in, moving to stand between Sam and John, positioning himself protectively in front of his hurt, shaking baby brother. Dean looked furious, but Cas could tell he was trying to push it down, afraid of his dad calling him out for being disrespectful. “He’s trying to tell you something important. The least you could do is listen to him.”

               “He want attention,” John snarled. He had gone pale, and his fists were clenched tightly. “Andrew would never…he used to babysit you both. He never hurt you. Bobby trusts the man with his life. You and I haven’t been around lately, and this is his way of getting us to pay attention to him, and a way to get out of having to play soccer.”

               “No, Dad…” Sam tried to speak up, his voice breaking. He cleared his throat and started again. “It’s not…it’s not for attention. You think I would lie to get out of soccer? I wouldn’t lie about this…” Sam tugged the neck of his sweater down and showed off the vibrant, deep red hickey on his collar bone. “Look at this. He…he did this…”

               John stared at the red mark marring his baby boy’s pale skin. He blinked at him blankly, refusing to believe that a man he and Bobby trusted would do anything like this. “Stop, Sam. It makes me sick, that you would accuse a good man of this and pass off what your boyfriend does to you as your coach’s. I thought I raised you better than that.”

               John strode past Sam and Dean, trough the kitchen, and left the apartment, snapping the door shut behind him. Probably off to some bar to get himself hammered.

               Again.

               Den was left staring at the spot his father vacated, shocked and disgusted. Sam released his collar so it sprang back to cover the dark mark. He sank down onto the couch and stared down at his hands. He felt too empty and tired to even care anymore. He didn’t have any tears left.

               He felt the couch sag next to him and a light hand came to rest between his shoulders. He shrugged Cas’s hand off, not looking up. Cas accepted the gentle rebuff, recognizing Sam’s silent request for space and sitting beside him quietly, offering silent support.

               Sam spoke up softly after a few minutes. “I’m so sorry, Castiel.”

               Cas was surprised at the apology. “Don’t apologize, Sam. It’s not your fault.”

               “Not that,” Sam shook his head. “For making you…for pressuring you to…for…”

               “You’re confused,” Cas said quietly, aching to reach out and rub Sam’s knee comfortingly, but resisting the urge. “I… I understand.”

               Sam nodded shortly, his eyes flickering to Cas for a few moments before dropping his gaze to the floor again.

               Dean watched them blankly, his mind roaring with half formed thoughts and his vision blurring with anger. How could their Dad say that? How could he believe this creepy sonofabitch over his own son, for God’s sake? What the hell was wrong with their dad?

               Dean knew that Dad wasn’t exactly a perfect parent (he wasn’t even really a good parent), but he had thought that at least John would know to take something like that seriously.

               Sam flinched when Dean punched the wall so hard his fist went through the thin plaster.

 

 

               John leaned over the bar and down another drink, biting back the wince when it burned his throat. He put the glass back down on the dark wood counter. “Another.”

               “I’m gonna have to cut you off after this, man,” the bartender refilled his drink once more.

               John grunted incomprehensibly, taking another gulp of amber liquid. He swirled it around in his glass, lost in thought.

               Sam had been acting…different, lately. Strange. Quiet. Withdrawn. John figured he was just going through a phase. Sam had always stopped talking to him when he was angry at John for whatever reason he’d chosen that week.

               Andrew couldn’t be hurting him. He was a good man, a great man. He’d served with Bobby in the army before they went into business together. They were closer than brothers. Bobby wouldn’t misjudge a child molester.

               Sam could be melodramatic; John had been witness to some of his more emotional meltdowns when he was younger. He could be twisting Prose’s actions out of proportion.

               John rubbed his temples, trying to ease the pounding in his head.

               He would wait, talk to Andrew about this, call Bobby and see what he thought. Sam was at an age where he was expected to be acting out, crying out for attention. This could be nothing.

               This had to be nothing.

               John didn’t think he could handle it if someone had hurt his son.

 

                

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is! I promise that John will come around (he's just a little shocked, and a little in denial). I hope you liked it.
> 
> Drop me a review if you have a second, I really appreciate them!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: mentions of sexual abuse, allusion to physical abuse, language, slash.

               Prose pulled open the door to the locker room and stepped inside. He slammed the door behind him, frustrated and angry. Sam hadn’t met him in his office as he’d been instructed to, and he was pissed. “Sam! Sammy!”

               He heard a voice from the back of the locker room by the showers and headed in that direction, growing more and more irritated. “Sam, get out here right now and—“

               Prose froze when he realized that Sam and he weren’t alone. Castiel was standing at the end of one of the benches near the lockers, speaking softly to Sam. Sam glanced up when he saw Prose and shrugged a little. “Hi, coach.”

               “Sam, I thought I told you I needed to talk to you,” Prose tried not to growl, but his anger at being disobeyed was betraying him. “Alone.”

               Castiel raised an eyebrow. “I am giving Sam a ride home. We have to leave or I’ll be late for church.”

               Prose openly glared at Sam. Sam refused to meet his eyes and kept his gaze intently focused on the cloths he was pulling out of his locker to stuff into his battered duffle bag. He could feel Prose’s eyes boring into him and he prayed silently that Prose would just accept the excuse. “S-s-sorry. M-maybe ne-next week?”

               Sam felt a gentle hand wrap around his bicep, and he found himself suddenly being pushed back behind Castiel protectively. Cas kept a grip on his arm and made sure to keep his body between Prose’s and Sam’s. “Let’s go, Sam.”

               “You can wait a few minutes,” Prose suggested mildly. His unthreatening tone was negated by the way he stepped forward to loom intimidatingly over Castiel and glowered down at the dark haired man. “Why the rush, Novak?”

               “I told you,” Cas replied through gritted teeth, meeting Prose’s eyes determinedly, refusing to drop his gaze. “I have to get to church.”

               “Funny,” Prose tilted his head to the side and regarded Cas curiously, his smile cold ad cruel. “I didn’t think they wanted your kind anywhere near there.”

               “My kind?” Cas demanded angrily, shifting so he was planted firmly in front of Sam. He felt Sam’s fingers curl around his belt loop, and something in his chest clenched. Damn it if this bastard thought he was getting anywhere near Sam again.

               Cas would die first.  

               “Don’t play dumb,” Prose snapped, his lips curling into a sneer. “I’m not stupid. You’re screwing around with our little resident slut, and your family wouldn’t approve.”

               “Do not call him that,” Cas commanded angrily, tightening his grip on Sam’s wrist. He felt Sam’s forehead press against the nape of his neck; Sam’s long hair tickled against Cas’s pale skin. “You are sick, and disgusting, and if you do not stay away from him, I will take this into my own hands.”

               “Yeah?” Prose took a step forward, a small smirk on his lips. He and Cas were only separated by a few inches of space, and the air between them crackled with anger and tension. “What’s a little freak like you going to do to stop me? All it would take to break you is one letter to your family, and don’t think that I wouldn’t do it.”

               “Don’t underestimate me,” Cas growled. “What my family feels about me is irrelevant. Sam’s safety is my first priority. If you even look at him the wrong way again, I will not hesitate.”

               He turned on his heel to face Sam and grabbed the duffle bag from his shaking hands. Sam’s fingers were still tangled in his belt, and Sam tightened his grip, refusing to let go. He was irrationally afraid that if he let go of Cas for one second Prose would take him and hurt him again. Cas gently untangled Sam’s fingers from his belt, but instead of letting him go, twined Sam’s fingers through his own. He shouldered the bag and slid an arm around Sam’s waist. Sam cringed, able to feel Prose’s angry gaze on him, but allowed Cas to guide him out of the small, confining locker room and into the freedom of the parking lot.

 

 

               Cas glanced over at Sam with concern. Sam had gotten into the car and hunched over so his head was almost resting on his knees. One arm was wrapped around his stomach, and the other was resting on the console where he still had Cas’s hand in a sweaty death grip. Cas could hear him taking in steady, deep breaths, and was marginally comforted by the rise and fall of Sam’s shoulders.

               He pulled up in front of the Winchester’s apartment building and parked in one of the spot near the door, but made no move to get out of the truck. Sam hadn’t seemed to notice they’d stopped, and Cas was content to give him as much time as he needed to sort out whatever was running through his mind. He wished he could do more, he wished he could take Sam’s pain away from him and put it on himself instead, but he all he could do was be there for Sam.

               After fifteen minutes, Sam swallowed hard and sat up. He tightened his jaw and reached out to push open the truck door. He tugged his hand out of Cas’s and slid out of the truck. His feet hit the damp asphalt and he turned to face Cas, his expression passive and blank. “Thanks for the ride. Goodnight.”

               “Good..?” Cas’s bemused question was cut off by the door slamming in his face. He turned off the truck and climbed out, rounding the front to meet Sam before he could duck into the apartment building. Sam tried to slip by him, but Cas grabbed his wrist before he could escape and pulled him back. Sam reluctantly complied. Cas’s frown deepened. Months ago, Sam would have yanked his hand away and stormed inside, ranting about how insensitive Castiel was, or how he needed space. He never would have let Cas stop him from going inside.

               Cas cleared his throat and tried to get Sam to look at him. “Sam, talk to me.”

               “About what?” he demanded, his gaze on the cracked cements under his battered sneakers. He tugged at the collar of his sweatshirt nervously and swallowed hard. “You did you part, Cas. You stood up to him, you staked your claim on your territory. Good job, thanks, I appreciate it.”

               Cas dropped Sam’s arm, his jaw slackening with surprise. “My territory? You are not my territory. You don’t belong to me, you don’t belong to anyone.”

               Sam snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Whatever you say.”

               “When have I ever told you that you belonged to me?” Cas insisted, watching Sam with concern and confusion. “You’re mine, Sam, but only if you want to be.”

               “You can’t tell me I’m not an object to you, to any of you,” Sam spat, glaring down at Cas, Cas’s pained expression sending a jolt of pain through his heart that he ignored. “My dad dictates my whole life; I have no choice in anything! He owns me, Prose owns me, and I can’t get away from either of them!” Sam’s voice broke and he cleared his throat irritably, turning on his heel so his back was to Castiel, pressing one shaking hand over his mouth.

               He could feel Cas shifting his weight behind him, could practically make out the sound of the gears in Cas’s head turning as he tried to figure out what to do. Sam wished he would just stop. He didn’t need pity. He just wanted to be left alone; he wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for the next two years. He felt exhausted and disgusting. He didn’t know how Cas could stand to look at him, to touch him, when his body was painted with marks made by the hands of another man.

               “If you considered telling someone…” Cas began softly, but trailed off when he saw a red flush of anger creep up the back of Sam’s neck.

               Sam whirled around on his heel, not noticing the way Cas automatically stepped back from him and ducked his head submissively. “Damn it, Cas how could you of all people say that to me?”

               “What do you mean?” Cas asked, tilting his head to look up at Sam, confused.

               “Your brothers beat the hell out of you!” Sam yelled, throwing his arms up into the air, exasperated. “You’re always covered in bruises, and you do this thing when someone moves too fast…” Sam reached out a gripped Cas’s wrist without warning. Cas flinched automatically, then turned his face from Sam, shame making the back of his neck burn red. “See? I bandage you up, and I tell you it’ll be okay, that you’re safe, but when you’re with _them_ I can’t protect you! Now you get how fucking infuriating and painful it is to watch the guy you’re in love with let himself get hurt again and again by people that are supposed to protect him!”

               Cas gaped at Sam, stunned into silence. He hadn’t realized his home situation impacted Sam so severely, though, looking back, he should have. He hadn’t considered that Sam’s family wasn’t the same way his was, and that Sam might see his brothers’ punishments as…as unorthodox.

               Sam’s shoulders slumped as he watched shock play over Cas’s features. He rubbed the back of his hair and let out a small huff of air. “I…Cas, I just can’t. I stay up at night worrying about you, feeling this crushing guilt that I let you live with those people…If they kill you someday, and I could have told someone, could have stopped it… If I lost you like that…” his voice caught and he cleared his throat irritably. “I can’t get away from Prose any more than you can get away from your family. Not until my Dad decides to man the fuck up…”

               Sam’s voice broke and he looked down at his feet. They stood in silence for a few moments, Sam rubbing the back of his neck and Cas looking up at Sam with wide, innocent blue eyes, his arms wrapped around himself.

               The door to the building flew open and Dean bounded outside, his eye searching the lot until they landed on his brother. His expression became concerned when he saw Sam and Cas standing there and looking at each other, not speaking. Cas looked confused and scared, and Sam just looked tired. Sam glanced up at his brother and took off towards the door, catching it before it closed behind Dean. “Bye, Cas.”

               He disappeared inside without another word.

 

 

               Sam glanced up at the bleachers, squinting against the bright fluorescent lights of the indoor field. They were packed with parents and students who had come out for one of the last games of the season. Sam could make out his father’s mop of shaggy dark hair halfway up the stands. It was the first game John had made it to all year, and Sam was determined to look as miserable as he felt and play as worst as he could, in a last ditch effort to make his Dad see.

               His eyes flickered to the top corner of the bleachers reflexively, though he knew he wouldn’t see Cas there in his usual seat with the moms. They loved Cas; they thought his polite demeanor was endearing and had taken him under their wing. Seeing Cas so accepted and comfortable with people that wasn’t Dean or himself was a new feeling, but one that warmed Sam’s heart.

               Sam cracked his knuckles nervously, thinking back to last night. Some of the stuff he’d said to Cas had been out of line. Cas had just wanted to help. Sam got that, he really did, but Cas had to understand that he didn’t want to put him in that kind of danger. If it got out, Cas would be disowned and Sam would be put in a foster home Lord-knows-where. He would never see Dean, his Dad, or Cas again, and it wasn’t worth it. Sam could take this; he was strong. Winchesters didn’t complain.

               He wished Cas was there so he could make things right between them, but it was Sunday, and Sam knew that Cas and his family would be at church for most of the day. They had taken to dropping by Anna’s gravestone to clean it up and pray around it every week. It was one of the only times they put aside their differences enough to stop arguing. Anna’s death had sent their family into an angry downward spiral; their family was coming apart at the seams. Sam couldn’t begrudge Cas that peaceful time with his normally violent, out of control siblings.

               “Sam!”

               Sam blinked and looked up sharply, surprised to find Prose standing right over him. Prose grunted and gripped Sam’s arm to pull him to his feet. He leaned over to mutter something into Sam’s ear. It looked innocent enough; he kept his face neutral, as if he were discussing a play. “I hope you enjoyed your last night with your little boyfriend, because that’ll be the last time you see the whore alive after his family gets through with him.”  

               Sam’s eyes grew wide and panic made his heart pound frantically in his chest. “You didn’t…I didn’t tell, and you promised…”

               “Don’t lie to me,” Prose growled, pushing Sam away and straightening his jersey for him. “Now get out there and play.”

 

 

               Balthazar glanced up in time to see Cas falter in front of him. He reached out and grabbed the back of Cas’s thick jacket, helping to keep him upright. He waited for Cas to regain his balance before loosening his hold on Cas, keeping a cautious grip just in case. “Alright, Cas?”

               Cas nodded shortly, swallowing hard. Balthazar watched him for a few moments, concerned. He’d looked exhausted and sick lately, and Balthazar was beginning to worry. He’d half-heartedly tried to convince Cas to stay home today and rest, but they had both known that Michael would drag Castiel to church in he was on the brink of death. Cas had looked even more washed out in the dim light of filtering through the stain glass windows, but he’d looked slightly more content than he had that morning.

               “Cold, princess?” Gabriel jeered, but Balthazar could see the honest concern in their older brother’s eyes. Cas looked positively fragile; he was pale and shaking, his dark hair a ruffled mess, purple shadows under his eyes, slim, trembling fingers tugging his worn coat tighter around his shoulders. It made Balthazar sick to see his baby brother so run down, so tired.

               Castiel replied softly, his voice hoarse. “I’m fine.”

               “You say that,” Balthazar met Gabriel’s gaze over Cas’s head, raising his eyebrows. Gabriel shrugged helplessly. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

               Cas shot him a glare, but it fell flat, and he dropped his gaze to the ground. The frozen grass crunched under his boots as they made their way to Anna’s simple grave in the back corner of the church cemetery.

               Balthazar and Gabriel flanked Cas when they came to a stop at the headstone. The rest of the Novaks moved to stand in a circle around the grave, just as they did every week. Michael stood to the left, right next to the stone, and held out his hand for Hester to take. They all took the cue and linked hands, forming a semi-circle around the patch of dirt covering the coffin. Balthazar felt Cas tense before allowing his cold fingers to twine through Balthazar’s. Balthazar felt Cas shift slightly to sag against his side, allowing Balthazar to take some of his weight.

               “Where’s Lucifer?” Michael asked, his eyes flickering up to meet Cas’s. Lucifer had his fits; he stormed out of the house almost every other day. He was always back for Sunday to pray over Anna’s grave.

               Balthazar felt Cas’s fingers tighten around his hand. He glanced over and saw that Cas had ducked his head so he didn’t have to look at Michael. His stomach sank; Cas knew something the rest of them hadn’t figured out yet, and Balthazar had a feeling he knew what it was. Lucifer had always been restless; Balthazar had known it was only a matter of time before he just left them.

               Gabriel’s head was bowed as well. His hair fell across his forehead and hid his face, but Balthazar could see his distress by the slump of his shoulders. If Lucifer had really gone, Balthazar had no doubt that he would have told Gabriel. Lucifer and Gabriel were closer than the rest of them were, possibly with the exception of himself and Castiel.

               “We don’t know,” Uriel spoke for all of them, his gaze flickering suspiciously between Cas and Gabriel.

               Michael nodded shortly and his eyes flashed with rage. Balthazar shivered slightly; he suddenly hoped Lucifer didn’t come home, because Michael would beat him within an inch of his life for missing this.

               “We’ll begin then,” Michael said softly, bowing his head. The others followed suit. Balthazar looked down at Anna’s grave as they prayed, hoping that she could hear them from where she was. For the first few weeks they’d come, Balthazar had found himself choked up and unable to speak the prayers aloud. As time passed, the tears had been reduced to an aching sadness in his stomach and a dull itch in the corner of his eyes.

               Cas had saved his tears for when he was alone. Balthazar had heard him crying in the shower at night. He’d been tempted to barge in and try to comfort Cas, but, besides the problem of him seeing much more of Cas than he wanted to see, the door was locked. He’d attempted to get Cas to talk, intercepting him on his way from the bathroom to his bedroom. Cas would just clutch his towel more tightly around himself, as if he expected Balthazar to take it from him, and push by Balthazar, his puffy red eyes trained of the floor.

               So Balthazar was reasonably shocked when he glanced over and saw silent tears rolling down Cas’s cheeks. Cas lifted the hand twined with Balthazar’s to wipe the corners of his eyes. Balthazar felt his brother’s tears slide through his fingers and streak his palm.

               “Cas…” Balthazar breathed softly, reaching to brush away some more of Castiel’s stubborn tears.

               Cas shook his head and batted Balthazar’s hands away, glancing around the circle nervously. No one had noticed their quiet exchange. “Don’t…please.”

               Balthazar nodded and looked back down at the frozen grass, silently cursing his family. They had been raised with so little affection. He wanted desperately to comfort Cas, but touching Cas would probably make it worse. Men didn’t hug other men; it was something Balthazar had been told his entire life.

               Balthazar gritted his teeth and determinedly ignored the small, heartbreaking sounds coming from the back of Cas’s throat as he tried to stop crying.

 

               Dean shifted uncomfortably on the metal bleachers next to Dad, tugging his coat around him more tightly. Prose leaned over to say something to Sam, and Dean’s blood boiled. He didn’t realize he had started to stand until he felt his Dad’s hand on his wrist, yanking him back down. “Dad, let go of me.”

               “Don’t be stupid, Dean,” John snapped, watching Prose and Sam closely. He didn’t think it looked particularly threatening, but he didn’t like the way Sam went paler all of a sudden. Sam shook off Prose’s grip and jogged out onto the field. He was slow, and John noted the way his feet dragged across the turf. He bit his lip.

               Dean rubbed his face with his hands and sighed loudly, drawing attention from the surrounding parents. He glared at them until they looked away again and then turned his gaze to his dad. “You’re the one being stupid.”

               “Don’t talk to me like that,” John said through gritted teeth, watching Sammy take his place in the goal. “I’m your father, Dean, and I’m not going to let you run your mouth at me.”

               Dean set his lips in a thin line and turned to face forwards. His gaze found Sam immediately. Sam was moving sluggishly, and holding his side. Dean had to push down every protective instinct he had ( _save Sammy, protect Sammy, don’t let Sammy get hurt)_ to stop himself from going down there and dragging Sam to the car to take him away from here, far away from here. He saw Sam’s eyes flicker up to the stands where Cas usually sat and sucked on his bottom lip.

               Dean figured he’d bring Castiel, too.

               While Sam’s eyes were on the stands, he was too distracted to notice the offensive player of the other team kick the ball as hard as he could at the goal. The ball shot through the air and struck Sam in the stomach, hard. Sam, caught off guard, let out a small yelp of surprise and pain, and went down, his knees giving out completely.

               Dean was already halfway down the bleachers before Sam crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

 

 

 

               Michael led the way back inside the house, the rest of his siblings falling into line behind him. He paused in front of the door when he saw a plain envelope lying on the welcome mat. He bent down to pick it up and turned it over in his hands. Nothing was written on the front; no address, no name.

               “What is that?” Balthazar asked, looking over Michael’s shoulder.

               Michael shrugged and pushed the door open, stepping inside. Balthazar followed him to the kitchen, curious about the contents of the envelope. Michael sat down at the kitchen table and slit it open, listening to the sound of his siblings going their separate ways in the house, arguing with each other all the while.

               Balthazar’s heart almost stopped when he saw the pictures fall out onto the table. He had the irrational thought of snatching them up, but knew it was too late when he saw Michael’s eyes go darker.

               Michael leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment. Balthazar glanced down at the pictures again. There was no way Cas could lie his way out of this; it was undoubtedly him in the picture, kissing Sam Winchester with his fingers twined through the kid’s long, chocolate locks. Balthazar smiled slightly, bitterly; Cas and Sam were good for each other. He’d always thought so. He’d seen the way they looked at each other. He could see the way Cas cared for Sam by the way he cupped the back of Sam’s head in his hands so tenderly as they kissed, and he could see how much Sam cared about Cas by the way his arms wrapped protectively around Cas’s waist. It wasn’t wrong, even Balthazar could see that.

               “Castiel,” Michael said coldly, his voice even and steady. Cas jumped slightly where he was standing at the living room window, staring out over the snow covered ground. He turned and looked at Michael with red-rimmed eyes. “Come here a minute.”

               Cas approached them warily, glancing at Balthazar. Balthazar shook his head helplessly and bit his bottom lip, hard.

               “Look at this,” Michael reached out and grabbed Cas by his elbow roughly. He yanked the younger boy towards the table painfully and forced him to stand there, looking down at the pictures. Cas paled and looked like he was going to throw up. He twisted in Michael’s grip and backed away, reaching out blindly for the kitchen doorway.

               “Michael, please,” Cas said softly, holding up his hands in front of himself defensively.

               Michael strode forward and grabbed Cas before he could escape. Cas struggled to break out of Michael’s grip, but Michael easily shifted his arms to grip Cas around his waist and haul him off his feet. Cas kicked out blindly, succeeding in knocking over a lamp, but not dislodging Michael’s grip. Michael hefted Cas over his shoulder like he didn’t weigh more than a child, and carried him to the living room. Cas scratched and clawed at the back of Michael’s jacket, terror written plainly on his face, but Michael didn’t even seem to notice.

               Michael dropped Cas onto the wooden floor and Cas landed on his hip, hard. Cas immediately tried to scramble away, but Michael got a grip on his ankle and dragged him back, placing a knee in the middle of Cas’s chest to keep him in place. Michael undid his belt with one hand and yanked it out. He didn’t seem to be deterred by Cas’s frantic thrashing as he forced Cas’s hands above his head and lashed his wrists to the radiator with his belt. Cas tugged at the belt and tried to slip out of the bonds, but they were too tight.

               By then, most of the family had been drawn into the living room by the sound of shattering glass and Cas’s struggling. They hovered in the hallway, watching the scene with trepidation. Raphael and Gabriel slipped into the kitchen and looked down at the pictures on the table. Raphael’s eyes flickered up and he glared at Cas, his gaze smoldering with fury. Gabriel picked up the picture and stared at the picture for a few moments before it slipped from his fingers and he closed his eyes for a moment. He turned on his heel and bolted out of the house without looking back.

               Michael glanced around the room for a few moments before his gaze fell on the poker lying in the ashes of the fireplace.

               Cas followed his gaze and whimpers slightly, tugging weakly at the belt binding him to the radiator. “Michael…p-p-please…”

               Michael lifted the poker from the ashes and taped it against the brick side to knock loose the ashes clinging to it. He gazed at it for a few moments before moving back to where Cas was lying on the floor, shaking, vulnerable, and unable to protect himself. “You must be punished for your sins, Castiel.”

               Balthazar ducked his head and covered his ears; he couldn’t stand listening to Cas screaming.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is! Sorry for the cliffhanger type thing, I just wanted to get it out there.
> 
> Leave a review if you've got a minute! I really appreciate them:)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: discussion of physical and sexual abuse, language, violence, and me trying to write medical things

               By the time John made it down to the field, Dean was already kneeling next to Sam, slapping his face lightly in an effort to wake him up. John bent down next to them and tried to pry Dean’s hands away rom Sam’s shirt, but Dean had an iron grip on his baby brother. Dean slid one hand around the back of Sam’s neck and cradled his head, and the other moved to rest on Sam’s chest. He let out a low sigh of relief when he felt Sam’s heart beating steadily under his hand. “Sam. Sam, c’mon, Sammy, wake up.”

               Dean wasn’t sure if Sam heard him or not, but something jarred Sam back from unconsciousness. His eyes flickered open and Dean was alarmed by the foggy sheen over the normally bright hazel irises. Sam moaned and curled into a small ball, clutching his ribs and writing in pain. Dean tightened his grip on Sam’s shuddering form, panic taking a hold of his heart when he realized there was blood seeping through Sam’s shirt and speckling his lips.

               “Dean, let me get him,” John commanded, successfully prying Dean away from Sam and shoving him out of the way. John slipped his arms under Sam’s back and legs and lifted him up. He was surprised by how light Sam was; it wasn’t healthy. Sam struggled weakly in his arms, clawing at his chest. “No…no…”

               John pushed his way through the crowd of parents and teenagers who had gathered around them, praying that Sam wouldn’t freak out until they were in the car. He could feel Sam becoming more and more agitated in his half conscious, delirious state, and it would be impossible to keep a hold of the gangly teenager if he started trying to fight John off. He heard Dean rushing behind him to keep up. Dean darted in front of him and pulled the door open.

               “You drive, Dean,” John demanded, sliding into the back seat with Sam.

               Dean froze and stared at him for a few moments. His eyes flickered to Sam and John could see the panic in his green eyes, the way Dean’s hands shook, the need Dean was feeling to protect Sam right then. Dean swallowed hard and steeled himself, nodding shortly. “Okay.”

               He jumped into the front seat of the Impala and started the car. John was sent flying forward against the front seat shoulder first when Dean whipped the car out of the parking lot, taking the left turn hard. Sam let out a cry of pain and flailed out, catching John’s chin with his fingernails. John tried to readjust him in his arms, but Sam pushed him away, looking up at him with confusion and pain flashing in his eyes. He turned away from John and tried to curl up into a ball on the seat, lowly moaning, “No, please, no, please…PLEASE, NO…” John cringed when Sam yelled, and reached out to push up his jersey to see the damage. He caught a glimpse of dark, painful looking bruises on Sam’s stomach and hips before Sam jerked away from him, half-rolling onto the floor. That seemed to panic him more. “Stop, please, stop, please don’t, please, it hurts…”

               “What the fuck, Dad?” Dean pressed down on the gas harder, desperate to get to the hospital as fast as possible and trying to fight the overpowering desire to climb into the backseat and comfort Sam. “What’s wrong with him? Calm him down!”

               “He won’t let me touch him,” John said helplessly, trying to figure out how to help Sam without touching him. Sam curled up on the floor behind the driver’s seat and buried his face in his hands, whimpering and huddling his battered frame against the door. “I can force him—“

               “Dean, please, Dean, help me, help me…” Sam gasped softly, so quietly John could barely hear him. “Cas…Cas…Castiel, please, please, Cas, please help, please make him stop, Cas…”

               John felt something clench tightly around his heart. He tried to push aside the bitterness rising in his chest at the realization that when Sam was so upset he was practically hysterical he was calling out for his brother and his boyfriend, not his dad. He swallowed hard and glanced out the window. Dean turned sharply into the hospital parking lot and skidded to a stop at the main entrance, jumping out of the car without bothering to turn off the ignition. He yanked open the back door on the driver’s side and caught Sam before he could fall out of the car onto the pavement. Sam yelped and flipped his body around, disoriented and scared. His ribs made contact with the side of the seat and he gasped, doubling over in pain. Dean hefted him out of the car and put a hand on Sam’s stomach, rubbing gently and trying to help coax air back into Sam’s lungs. “Sammy, it’s alright. It’s alright, you’re okay, I’ve got you, big brother’s got you…”

               John got out of the other side of the car and moved around the Impala to help Dean carry Sam into the hospital entrance, supporting his baby boy from one side while Dean held him up on the other. Sam shied away from John’s touch, electing instead to clutch desperately to Dean, begging hoarsely for someone to save him.

 

 

 

               “…tiel?”

               “…killed him, Michael, you fucking killed him…”

               “Ca’?”

               “Please…please wake up…”

               “…fever…”

               “They’re going to scar. Don’t touch him, be careful…”

               “He’s shaking…”

               “…he’s crying.”

               Castiel’s tongue darted out from between his chapped lips to taste the salty tears dripping down his face. He pried his eyes open slowly, winching when the light from outside seared his across his blurry vision. He tried to roll over, but was stopped by a tight, throbbing pain spreading across his chest and back. He gasped and tried to curl up to relieve the pain; it just made it worse, stretching the half-scabbed over burns across his torso so they were in danger of splitting open again. Cool hands gripped his shoulder and side, turning him onto his side on the wooden floor so he wouldn’t choke on his throw up. He pushed himself up slightly and spit the mouthful of bile onto the floor, tears stinging his eyes. He coughed and cleared his burning throat, struggling to speak. “Balth…Balthazar…”

               “Cas,” Balthazar’s shoulder sagged in relief. Inias tried to hand him a glass of water, making a small sound in the back of his throat. Balthazar brushed him off, too concerned with Cas to handle his other brother then. He tapped Cas’s cheek lightly and tried to get Cas’s distant eyes to focus themselves on him. “Cas, listen to me. You have to get out of here, you have to get to a hospital.”

               “Hospital?” Cas repeated, his voice hoarse. His throat was ragged from screaming. He felt a cool glass being pushed against his bare, bruised stomach and looked down, finding himself eye to eye with Inias. Inias pushed the glass against his skin until it hurt. Cas accepted the water gratefully, reaching out to lightly brush Inias’s hand. “I can’t go to a hospital, prayer is the only way—“

               “That’s bull, Cas,” Balthazar growled, reaching down to help Cas to his feet. “I know what we’ve been raised with, and maybe it holds some water, but please, I can’t fix this. Look at yourself.”

               Cas looked down at himself, tightening his jaw and steeling himself for what he might see. Raw, red burns wrapped around his stomach, sides, chest, and arms. The skin over them felt constricted and tight. When he tried to move his arm, he felt one of the fresh scabs over the burns crack. Bruises punctuated the vibrant burns marring his pale skin, and dried blood traced intricate patterns over his torso. He yelped when Balthazar let go and he suddenly had to hold himself up.

Balthazar swooped in to catch him again, taking most of Cas’s weight. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I forgot…”

               “Forgot?” Cas repeated, confused. He lifted his right foot and leaned forward as far as he could to see what was causing him so much pain. Long, thin burns wrapped around the bottoms of his feet. His gaze trailed upwards, and he bit down on his bottom lip when he saw the burns decorated his shins and thighs. “Balthazar…”

               “I couldn’t get him to stop,” Balthazar said, his voice apologetic and tired. “I tried, Cas, he wouldn’t stop, I couldn’t make him stop…” Cas noticed him tugging at his sleeve and saw the end of a vivid burn on his palm. Balthazar had tried to stop Michael, physically tried to stop him; Michael must have been really out of control if Balthazar had stepped in.

               “Not your fault,” Cas said softly, reaching out to squeeze Balthazar’s hand.

               Balthazar shook his head and pulled Cas into a tight embrace. He ducked his head to mutter softly in Cas’s ear. “Not your fault either, Cas. You have to understand that. You’re not wrong, he is. This was not your fault.”

               Cas collapsed against his older brother, unable to stand for long without pain searing through his entire body. He ducked his head and pressed his forehead against Balthazar’s chest. “I…I can’t…’m trying…” he cleared his throat and curled his fingers more tightly into Balthazar’s shirt. He felt sick; he was going to throw up again, and sweat was pouring down his forehead and back. He felt small hands curl into the hem of his shirt and Inias butted his head against Cas’s stomach. Cas rested a hand in his hair, keeping a grip on Balthazar with the other.

               “Gabriel is outside,” Balthazar said quietly. “He’ll drop you off at the hospital. I’ll call Sam and have him come get you.”

               Cas shook his head and forced himself to stand, resting most of his weight on his heels, where the least damage had been inflicted. “He can’t, I can’t, it’s not…”

               “Cas, for God’s sake, just listen to me for once,” Balthazar hissed, gripping Cas’s biceps tightly and looking down at him with desperation clearly written over his worn features. “You’re burning up, and there’s barely an inch of you that isn’t bruised or burned. I promise you, it’s okay. Go.”

               Cas swallowed hard and opened his mouth to speak, but froze when he heard a door slam from deeper in the house. He flinched and unconsciously tightened his grip on Balthazar’s shirt, his throat going dry.

               “Balthazar,” Michael’s voice called from down the hall. His footsteps grew louder as he moved closer to the kitchen. “I told you not to touch him. He made his choice, and he’ll pay for it.”

               A low whimper escaped Cas’s lips. Balthazar pushed him towards the door in the living room, panic clawing at his chest as Michael’s footsteps got closer with each second that passed. “Go, Cas, get out!”

               Cas stumbled to the door and leaned heavily against it, fumbling for the doorknob with clumsy, uncoordinated hands.

               “What are you doing?” Michael paused in the kitchen doorway, taking a moment to evaluate the scene before him. Cas was struggling to get the door open, his battered body shuddering against the cold glass. Balthazar had an iron grip on Inias to keep him from shooting off after Cas, and Inias was growing steadily more agitated as Balthazar kept him from going to his favorite sibling. “Castiel, get back here.”

               “Michael, stop, wait a minute,” Balthazar tried to step in Michael’s path to impede him from getting to Cas, but Michael barely had to pause to strike Balthazar across the face so hard he fell into the kitchen table, clutching at his cheek. Inias took the chance to escape and darted across the room to cling to Cas, his arms wrapped around Cas’s slim waist. Cas grunted in pain and gently elbowed Inias off of him, finally getting a grip on the doorknob. He turned it and the door fell open under his weight. He stumbled outside, taking Inias with him. Inias hook his fingers through the belt loops of Cas’s shredded jeans and tugged at them, whining softly.

               “I’m so sorry,” Cas whispered, his voice breaking. He pressed a kiss to the top of Inias’s head and slipped out of his baby brother’s grip easily before taking off towards Gabriel’s car parked at the end of the driveway.

               “CASTIEL!” Michael shouted. Cas heard Michael take off after him and tried to push himself harder. He wasn’t much of a runner in the first place, and the burns on his feet and the foot of snow on the ground was making it even more difficult to pick up his pace. He heard Michael’s heavy panting grow closer and closer as the distance between Cas and the car shrunk. Cas skidded to a stop and yanked the door open. He had almost pulled it shut again when Michael got a grip on his hair. His fingers tore at the short stands and he tried to yank Cas out of the car and onto the ground. Cas yelped, eyes watering in pain, and dug his fingernails into the leather upholstery of Gabriel’s seats, clinging to them for dear life. He grabbed at the center console and hugged it tightly, refusing to let go; trying to run meant another beating, and Cas wasn’t sure he would survive another round with Michael.

               “Hold on, Cas,” Gabriel called, slamming his foot down on the gas pedal. Michael’s fingernails ripped down Cas’s sides and arms as the care tore away from the side of the road, leaving long, vibrant red lines of blood behind. Cas used the last of his strength to pull himself fully into the car. He pulled the door closed with shaking hands and collapsed back into the seat, curling into a ball on his side and hugging his knees to his chest.

               He felt Gabriel’s hand in his hair, rubbing his scalp gently. “It’s alright, Cas. It’s okay.”

               Cas nodded and gasped for air, his chest heaving with silent sobs as tears of terror ran unchecked down his cheeks.

 

 

 

               John felt Dean shift next to him for the hundredth time that night and tried to quell the frustration he felt at the irritating motion. He couldn’t blame Dean for being worried. He glanced up at the doors to the ER again, hoping to see a sign of Sam’s doctor somewhere. Sam had been rushed into an exam room over an hour ago, and John was getting restless.

               Dean sighed, clenching and unclenching his hands in his lap nervously. “Do you think he’s okay?”

               “He’ll be fine, Dean,” John replied, trying to sound more certain than he felt. “Do you have any idea what happened?”

               “Do I--?” Dean spluttered, turning to look at his dad with indignance plastered across his face. “Of course I know what happened! For fuck’s sake, Dad, he told you what was happening and you accused him of lying!”

               John’s stomach sank. “His coach…”

               “His coach,” Dean repeated harshly, his cold eyes dropping to glare at the scrubbed tile of the waiting room floor. “He told you, he asked you for help, and you didn’t do anything. You let him get hurt. You’re his dad! You’re supposed to protect him, I’m supposed to protect him, Cas is supposed to protect him…it’s our responsibility, Sam is our responsibility!”

               Dean turned away from John, dropping his face into his hands and choking back deep sobs. John laid a hand on his back, but Dean jerked away from him, not looking up. John dropped his hand back to his side, stung by the rejection.

               Dean was right. He’d been stupid to believe some guy he barely knew over his own kid. He’d been stupid to blindly trust Bobby’s judgment.

               Damn. Damn it. He’d screwed up, he’d really fucked up. This wasn’t just forgetting to pick Sam up from school, or not realizing Sam had grown out of Dean’s hand-me-downs until Dean offered to take him shopping, or forgetting a birthday. He’d let Sam get hurt. Sam had asked him for help and he hadn’t protected him. John hunched over, feeling sick.

               “Winchester?”

               Dean and John both stood up eagerly and strode over to the doctor standing at the wooden doors that opened to the ER. The man held his clipboard to himself and regarded John and Dean with a practiced sympathetic, reassuring expression in place.

               “I’m his father,” John offered, clearing his throat. “This—“

               “I’m his brother,” Dean interrupted and introduced himself, pushing John aside to stand in front of him. John bit his bottom lip, but allowed Dean to take charge. “Is Sam okay?”

               The doctor made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. “He’s asleep right now. We had to sedate him, but he’ll wake up in a few hours.” He glanced down at his clipboard before continuing calmly, keeping his businesslike demeanor. “He’s got severe bruising on most of his body, and some lacerations and…and bite marks that were infected. That’s probably why he’s developed a fever. Four ribs are bruised, two are fractured. He…we ran a rape kit. It came back positive. There is damage…”

               Dean squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, overcome with a need to scream and cry and punch whatever he could sink his fists into, preferably Andrew Prose. He struggled to speak, his words coming out choppy and choked. “I need to see him.”

 

 

               Dr. Campbell carefully tied off the last of the stitches on the Novak kid, taking care not to pull too hard and break the skin. Novak’s back looked like it had been sewn back together like a patchwork quilt. Novak was lying flat on his stomach, his eyes squeezed tightly shut and his fists clenched so hard his knuckles were white. He’d refused anything more than a mild anesthesia, reluctant to allow Campbell to medicate him in the first place. Sweat beaded on the back of his neck and ran down the rivet in his back, and he was shaking. His skin felt ice cold under Campbell’s hands.

               Castiel shuddered and groaned softly, cracking his knuckles when he forced his fist to uncurl slightly. He hissed through gritted teeth, his voice thick with pain, “Gabriel, it’s so hot…”

               “Shhh, Cas,” the older one, who had been hovering in the corner of the room and glaring at Campbell threateningly since he’d come in, moved to the side of the table and rested a hand in Castiel’s hair. He rubbed Castiel’s head gently. “I know. Just relax, Cas. Breathe.”

               Castiel whimpered softly and reached up blindly for his brother, his fingers catching in Gabriel’s sleeve desperately. Campbell helped Castiel to sit up slightly so he could wrap his torso tightly in clean white gauze.

               Castiel tensed when Campbell gripped his leg gently to bandage the cuts along his shins and thighs, his slim fingers clutching his brother’s arm in a bruising grip. Gabriel let Castiel hold on to him, grimacing and glancing towards the door, as if he was itching to get out of there as soon as possible. Castiel nestled back against Gabriel’s chest, pushing as far away from Campbell as he could, tugging at his split lip nervously.

               Campbell kept wrapping the bandages around his shin, making sure to keep his movements steady and deliberate. He glanced up and found himself looking right into Castiel’s wide, suspicious blue eyes as they warily tracked the movement of his hands. He raised an eyebrow before returning his attention back to the bandages. “You didn’t mention how this happened when you came in.”

               “I was unconscious,” Castiel replied. Campbell bit the inside of his cheek; he’d expected a smart remark, but the kid sounded completely sincere.

               “You’re not now,” Campbell pointed out. “What happened?”

               Castiel’s fingers tightened around his brother’s coat. “I fell.”

               “You…you fell?” Campbell repeated incredulously, freezing and looking up at Castiel, stunned. “You got these burns all over you from falling?”

               “I fell into a fire pit,” Castiel’s eyes drifted shut and his head lolled back onto Gabriel’s shoulder. Gabriel adjusted his grip slightly so he could support Castiel a little easier.

Gabriel glanced up and met the doctor’s inquisitive gaze. Gabriel shrugged, hating himself for going along with another one of the stories Cas fed to the doctors, but afraid to say otherwise. “He’s uncoordinated.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Campbell hummed doubtfully, his suspicions conformed by the weak lie. “Listen, your brother is really hurt. He’s got a fever, and I think it would be best if you admitted him for a few days.”

Gabriel sucked on his bottom lip, looking down at Cas’s face and taking in the deep lines of pain and worry that creased his baby brother’s forehead. His stomach dropped; Castiel had worry lines, and he was seventeen years old. Gabriel swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. “I…if that’s what you think is best. He…my dad has the insurance information, I don’t know if…I’ll try to call him…”

“Take your time,” Campbell said softly, tying off the last bandage around Castiel’s thigh. “I’ll send for a wheelchair and we’ll move him to a room.”

Gabriel nodded and gripped Castiel’s bare arms tightly before he felt Castiel wiggle uncomfortably under his hard grip. He loosened his hold and rubbed Cas’s arms gently, trying to swallow his panic when he suddenly felt how cold Cas was despite the sweat rolling down his back and forehead.

Gabriel shifted Cas to lie on his side on the table and wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. “I’ll go find a phone.”

 

 

John watched Sam’s chest rise and fall, following the steady, reassuring rhythm with his dark eyes. Sam’s eyes were shadowed by dark purple circles that stood out starkly against his chalk white skin. John’s gaze dropped to the dark, raw marks on Sam’s exposed next, marring the soft, vulnerable flesh in a gross visual display of abuse of power and authority. The doctor had interrogated John relentlessly about who had done this to Sam, but finally given up a half an hour ago. It didn’t escape John’s notice that the doctor did just happen to wander by and glance in through the doorway every once in a while.

John balled his hands into fists and dug his teeth into his bottom lip until he tasted blood. He pushed himself to his feet, sending his chair clattering to the ground behind him. Dean flinched at the sound and automatically shifted to put himself between Sam and his dad. “What are you doing?”

John gritted his teeth and strode out of the room, growling lowly, “I’m taking care of the problem.”

And he was gone.

Dean stared at the half open door, stunned. He tried to call after his dad, but no noise came out. He held Sam’s hand in his tighter, stroking Sam’s palm with his thumb. He cleared his throat and hunched over in the chair again, clutching Sam’s hand in both of his. He fought the anger boiling in his chest; Sam didn’t need anger, he needed support. Dean wanted to go take care of Prose just as much as Dad did, but Sam’s needs came first, always.

Sam whimpered lowly and shifted onto his side, curling up and facing Dean, his face creased with discomfort. Dean sighed softly and pressed his lips to Sam’s hands. “I’m here, Sammy…I’m here.”

 

 

 

 

              

 

              

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! I think another chapter and an epilogue left, maybe? I'll have to see.
> 
> Please review if you have a minute! I really appreciate them:)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS: mentions of abuse, me trying to write about hospitals and legal things (neither are accurate; I am not a doctor, not am I a lawyer), slash, language, mentions of rape, and violence

               Dean glanced towards to hall door for what felt like the hundredth time since his dad had left. He’d been gone for over two hours now, and damn it if Dean wasn’t getting a little worried. He tapped his fingers nervously on the folder on his lap. He’d grabbed it from the back of the Impala before Dad had taken the car, hoping to bring up his suggestion again; obviously, it would have to wait until after Dad got back. He tapped his foot restlessly and glanced back at Sam. Rage bubbled in his chest when his gaze fell on the dark bruises on Sam’s neck and arms that stood out starkly from his paper white skin. As Dean watched, he snuffled and shifted onto his side, whining lowly. He buried his face in the flat hospital pillow and clutched the scratchy sheets tightly, a small, broken sound coming from the back of his throat that sounded suspiciously like Cas’s name.

               Dean sucked in a short breath and stood up, reaching down to rest a hand in Sam’s sweaty hair for a moment. Sam subconsciously nuzzled against his palm. Dean dropped his hand to his side and sighed softly. “I’ll be right back, Sammy. I’ve gotta make a phone call.”

               Sam, of course, didn’t show any sign he’d heard, just continued to toss and turn in a restless sleep. Dean strode out of the room, dropping his folder on the table and trying to ignore the niggling feeling of discomfort at leaving Sam alone. They were in a hospital, for God’s sake. Sam would be fine.

               He paused by the nurse’s station and leaned on the counter until he caught the attention of one of the men. The man smiled at him and approached the counter, clutching a clipboard to his chest. “Can I help you with something?”

               “Uh, yeah, do you guys have payphones around here somewhere?” Dean asked, scrubbing his hand over his mouth and glancing around the hallway. “I have to make a phone call, and I don’t have my…my cell phone on me…”

               “Yeah, sure,” the man smiled reassuringly. He pointed towards the front lobby. “There are some down by the front there. Go ahead.”

               “Thanks,” Dean nodded shortly, turning towards the front hall. He paused and dug his hands in his pockets, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He hesitantly half turned back to the man and said softly, “Would you…can you just keep an eye on him while I’m gone?”

               The man nodded understandingly and glanced down the hall towards Sam’s room, recognizing Dean as the guy who’d come in with the kid they ran the rape kit on. “Of course.”

               “Thanks,” Dean muttered, turning back to continue down the hall towards where the nurse had motioned. He found the line of payphones in a small outlet of the lobby. He picked up the one furthest from the lobby and dug into his pockets for quarters, hoping Cas was home and he wouldn’t have to talk to any of his siblings.

               “Dean?”

               Dean whipped around quickly, surprised by the voice and immediately on the defense. He found himself face to face with Gabriel Novak. He dropped his arms back to his sides and allowed himself to relax. He leaned back against the wall and let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair. His exhausted body was humming with adrenaline. He glared at Gabriel and snapped, “Give me a fucking heart attack, why don’t you, you sonofabitch?”

               “Dean,” Gabriel repeated, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest. “Every bit as eloquent as I remember.”

               “What are you doing here?” Dean asked, glancing around the lobby in search of more of Cas’s siblings. They were the last thing he needed right now.

               Gabriel’s rakish grin dimmed and his dark gaze dropped to the floor. His tongue flickered out to wet his bottom lip and he hesitated a moment before replying, “Michael…Michael found out about Cas and Sam. He…he wasn’t happy.”

               Dean’s stomach dropped when he got the implications of Gabriel’s words. He gripped the lapels of Gabriel’s jacket and shoved the smaller man into the wall, keeping him pinned there and growling lowly, “What did he do? Where’s Cas? I swear to God, if that sonofabitch even thought about—“

               “Calm down, lover boy,” Gabriel held up his hands helplessly and gripped Dean’s wrists loosely. “Cas is…he’s okay. He’s in room 204, asleep. They wanted to keep him here for observation because they suspect abuse. Cas told them he fell, but his body is more fucked up than any fall could explain away.”

               “What did he do to him?” Dean demanded again through gritted teeth, pressing his fists into Gabriel’s chest painfully.

               Gabriel’s grip on Dean’s wrists tightened when he felt Dean’s knuckles digging into his chest. “He beat the crap out of him with a fire poker, that’s what he did to him. Cas is a fucking mess, he barely has any skin on his back, and he’s covered in blisters and infected burns. His fever just broke and he’s exhausted.”

               Dean let go of Gabriel’s coat and took a step back, clenching his hands into tight fists. He swallowed hard and ducked his head. “Why aren’t you with him?”

               Gabriel moved away from Dean and eyed him warily, determined not to be manhandled again. “I have to…I can’t be here. I’m not getting caught in another war between my siblings. Lucifer and Michael were bad enough.”

               “Cas is your brother,” Dean snapped, stepping threateningly towards Gabriel, his vision obscured with a white flash of anger. “You don’t have the option of leaving.”

               “You don’t understand,” Gabriel said sharply. “My family isn’t like yours. I love Cas, and I wish I could save him, but I can’t, none of us can.” Gabriel ran a hand through his dark blond hair and sucked on his bottom lip nervously for a moment before continuing slowly. He moved closer to Dean and gripped his forearms tightly, pulling the bigger man down to his level so he could whisper in his ear without being overheard by the others in the waiting room. “You have to leave, Dean. You have to take him, and you have to take Sam, and you have to get out of here. Cas can’t come home, he won’t make it.”

               “What do you mean?” Dean asked, his voice low and hoarse. Gabriel’s gaze was filled with a surprising amount of solemnness, and the serious expression on the normally jovial man’s face.

               Gabriel shook his head and bit the inside of his cheek. He replied quietly, “I…I…either Michael will kill him or…or I don’t know, Dean. I just know that Cas can’t live like this for much longer. Please.”

               Dean yanked his arms out of Gabriel’s grip and turned away, crossing his arms over his chest and focusing on drawing in deep, even breaths. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been seriously considering taking Sam, settling him into the back of the Impala, and driving until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore. He had enough money saved to settle down somewhere until he found a new job. He had the goddamned court papers in Sam’s hospital room; he wasn’t just considering it, he was on his way to doing it. Taking Cas with them had always been kind of implied; Sammy would refuse to leave him here, and Dean wouldn’t suggest it in the first place.

               He felt a twinge of guilt in his chest when he thought of his dad. As much as he loved him, the way he’d dealt with Sam during this whole ordeal, during Sam’s teenage years, was less than admirable. Dean was sick of hearing them fight, he was sick of Sam crawling into his bed and curling up next to him because of the nightmares brought on by the arguments, and he was sick of pretending not to hear Sam as he tried to stifle his sobs in the next bed over. Dad had screwed up Sam’s childhood since the beginning, but not listening to him when Sam tried to tell him he was being methodically raped by his soccer coach wasn’t just screwing up; it was crossing a line.

               Dean set his jaw and turned back to Gabriel, his gaze dark and determined. “Room 204?”

 

 

               Cas stared blankly at the wall next to his bed, picking absentmindedly at a loose thread in the sheets. He shifted his body slightly, hoping to relieve some of the pain of resting on his damaged right hip, but it seemed like there wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t on fire. He’d heard Gabriel leave ten minutes ago, and he wished he could say that knowing his older brother would make a run for it as soon as he could made it hurt any less.

               He tensed when he heard the footsteps in the hallway pause in his doorway. His heart leapt to his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut, his breath coming in short, silent gasps. He felt a calloused hand on his shoulder and instinctively flinched away from the touch.

               “Cas, hey, it’s me,” Cas pried his eyelids open when he realized he recognized the voice above him.

He groaned softly and tilted his head to meet Dean’s concerned green eyes. “Dean?”  

“Yeah,” Dean bit back a sarcastic response, his throat dry and tight. Cas looked like hell. His arms and legs were bandaged tightly, and Dean saw the bandages disappeared beneath the loose hospital robe; he couldn’t even imagine what Cas’s back looked like. Cas blinked up at him, his blue eyes foggy and tired. “I ran into Gabriel. He told me…Michael found out.”

“Don’t tell Sam,” Cas said softly, glancing away from Dean, unable to make eye contact with him. He couldn’t handle the concern and tenderness he saw there. “He’ll blame himself. It’s not his fault. None of this is his fault…”

“Shhh, Cas, it’s alright, I won’t tell him,” Dean promised, carefully placing a hand on the least ravaged portion of pale skin on Cas’s shoulder. He rubbed the warm skin gently, trying to calm Cas down a little bit. Tears slipped down Cas’s cheeks and he let them fall onto the bedspread in dark gray splotches. “I won’t.”

Cas reached up to rub at his eyes frustratedly, wiping away the tears blurring his vision. “Why are you here? Where’s Sam?”

Dean perched himself on the edge of the bed, keeping his hand firmly on Cas’s shoulder, hoping it offered his friend some sort of anchor. “Sam collapsed on the field.” He felt Cas tense and hurriedly added, “He’s okay. He’s fine, Cas, he’s asleep right now. The doctors bandaged him up and they’re running tests now to see if he…to see if Prose passed on any kind of…of infection…”

Cas nodded shortly and brought his fist to his mouth. He gnawed on his knuckles for a few moments before asking quietly, “What room is Sam in?”

“607,” Dean replied. He felt Cas try to push himself up and immediately pressed the smaller man back down onto the mattress. “Whoa, there, man. You’re not in any shape to be wandering around a hospital.”

“I have to see him,” Cas batted Dean’s hands away and pushed himself into a sitting position, grimacing when the tight skin of the burns stretched painfully. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and braced himself, taking a deep breath before dropping his feet to the cool tile. The bandages helped buffer the wounds from making direct contact with the hard floor, but he still winced when he put pressure on them. He stumbled and caught himself on the bed rail. “I have to…to talk to him, Dean…”

“Hey, alright,” Dean rose to his feet to catch Cas before he could fall back onto the bed. Cas clutched the sleeves of his jacket and hauled himself back to his feet, leaning heavily on Dean to put less weight on his feet. Dean slipped an arm around Cas’s waist and readjusted Cas against him so he could get a solid grip on the smaller man. “Alright, man, I got you. You good?”

Cas nodded tersely, his fingers digging hard into Dean’s arm. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip. Dean helped him take a few steps towards the door, supporting most of his weight. Cas faltered and collapsed completely against Dean. He ducked his head and sucked in a deep breath, preparing to take another few steps. Dean bit his bottom lip, watching Cas’s shaking hands with concern. “Do you want me to carry you?”

Cas shook his head and gasped softly, “I am not an invalid, Dean. I can walk.”

Dean raised his eyebrows doubtfully but allowed Cas to steady himself and determinedly take a few more steps. They made it to the doorframe before Cas had to stop again, panting and clinging to Dean so only the tips of his toes were touching the unforgiving floor. Dean braced himself on the doorframe, sagging under Cas’s weight, and grunted, “Listen, dude, as great as this is going, I think we should figure out something else.”

“I don’t want to be carried,” Cas snapped shortly, something akin to fear flashing through his eyes. Dean watched him struggle with concern, uncertain as to why being carried was triggering such a reaction from Cas. He shook his head and swallowed hard, returning his gaze to the floor; he probably didn’t want to know. “I can do this, Dean, I have to do this, I have to see him…”

“Damn it, Cas, you will see him,” Dean replied irritably. He glanced up and down the hallway before sliding an arm under Cas’s knees and lowering him to the floor.

“Dean!” Cas refused to uncurl his fingers from the neck of Dean’s jacket. He ducked his head and pulled at Dean’s coat, tugging the bigger man down to the floor with him. “What are you doing? Where are you going?”

“I’m going to snag a wheelchair,” Dean replied, wincing when Cas’s fingers yanked at the hair at the back of his neck. He untangled Cas’s hands from his jacket and placed them on Cas’s lap, pressing them between his own for a moment reassuringly. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Cas nodded reluctantly, watching Dean disappear down the hallway warily. Dean grabbed a wheelchair from where one had been left abandoned in the hallway. He glanced around to see if anyone would notice; he didn’t want to take it from someone who needed it, but no way was Cas getting to Sam’s room by walking. He rolled it back to Cas’s room and parked it next to the door.

Cas pushed himself up against the door frame, digging his nails into the paint and leaving crescent shaped marks behind. Dean slid an arm under his shoulders and helped him ease into the wheelchair, wincing when he felt the jagged pattern of stitches in Cas’s back press into his arm. Cas set his jaw and leaned against the back of the wheelchair, biting back winces of discomfort. Dean grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and began pushing Cas down the hallway.

Cas shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his feet against each other and tugging restlessly at his fingers in his lap. “Will it be okay if I see him? Is your dad there? Did he tell anyone, are they sending someone after prose? Did the police--?”

“He’s been saying your name in his sleep, so I’m assuming it’ll be fine,” Dean responded, turning the corner to the hallway with Sam’s room. “My dad…Prose is going to be taken care of. My dad will make sure of that. The police have been by, but Sam hasn’t been coherent enough to talk to them.”

Cas absorbed the information with his wide eyes trained on Dean, taking in his every word. He opened his mouth to ask another question, but was cut off before he could begin when Dean stopped the wheelchair so quickly Cas was jerked forward and would have tumble dot the floor if he hadn’t gotten a grip on the handles at the last second. “What are--?”

“Wait, just listen for a minute, Cas,” Dean said lowly, bending over the back of the wheelchair and leaning on one of the armrests. He glanced up and down the hallway before continuing softly, “We’re leaving.”

“What?” Cas asked, confused. He turned to look down the hallway, uncertain of which room was Sam’s. “We can’t leave, Sam is—“

“No,” Dean cut him off again, keeping his voice low. He knew there wasn’t much time before Dad got back, and he had a limited amount of time to figure this out. “You and me and Sam. We’re leaving. Leaving this town, leaving this county, leaving this state. I’ll get a job, you and Sam can re-enroll in school…”

“Sam’s only sixteen,” Cas replied hoarsely, looking down at the floor. He bit his bottom lip and tried not to let the hope fluttering in his chest choke him. Dean was offering something he never let himself imagine; escaping from his family. He was offering Sam a refuge from his father’s disapproval and disappointment; he was offering Sam an escape from the hellish memories that would haunt him in their small house and the school locker room. Cas shook his head; it wasn’t practical. It was a dream, it was a wish, but it couldn’t ever really happen. “He’s a minor.”

“I’ll take care of that stuff,” Dean brushed off Cas’s concern easily, straightening up and reasserting his grip on the wheelchair handles. “I’ve got it under control. You just need to help me get Sam calm and out to the car. I’ll talk to my dad. Okay?”

Cas stared up at Dean, stunned. He nodded and reached out to grip Dean’s wrist. “Thank you.”

Dean rolled his eyes and resumed pushing Cas towards Sam’s room. “Don’t be such a girl. I’m just sick of seeing you and Sam crying all over each other all the time.”

Cas felt a small smile tug at the corner of his lips. Dean turned the chair into Sam’s room and almost ran it into the bed when Cas suddenly launched himself out of it. He managed to get it under control and parked it at the end of Sam’s bed, glancing over to watch Cas climb onto the hospital bed, careful not to crush Sam under him. Sam felt Cas’s weight settle on him and his eyes flickered open half-way. He peered up at Cas and pawed weakly at Cas’s chest, asking dazedly, “…Cas…?”

Cas nodded and ran a hand through Sam’s hair, careful not to jostle him too much. His thumb traced over one of the fading bruises on Sam’s cheek and when he spoke his voice was choked, “Sam. I…I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Sam mumbled, tugging at the front of Cas’s hospital gown. His slim fingers reached up to trace over Cas’s split bottom lip. “Please, Cas, please, don’t…”

Cas nodded again, curling his fingers into Sam’s hair. “Okay. Okay.”

Sam chewed his bottom lip and blinked a few times, trying to fight the stinging in the corners of his eyes and the lump in his throat. He felt an overwhelming sense of relief with Cas wrapped around him and Dean hovering protectively in the doorway, but a cold feeling of shame and discomfort still weighed heavily in the bottom of his stomach. Cas’s warm breath ghosted over his cheek, and Dean’s gruff voice was saying he’d be right back, and Cas’s bright eyes were flickering over his face, examining him closely, and it was just too much. Sam turned his face away and a whimper escaped his lips.

Cas rolled off of Sam and curled up at his side, realizing Sam might have felt trapped under him. He reached out and lightly touched Sam’s chin, guiding Sam’s gaze to meet his. Sam’s dark hazel eyes were wet and scared, as if he thought Cas was going to bitch him out for looking away from him. Cas sighed and dropped his forehead to rest it on the top of Sam’s head. “We’ll be okay, Sam.” He pressed his lisp to Sam’s forehead and bit his lip when he felt Sam’s arms wrap tightly around his waist, pulling him close and crushing him against Sam’s shaking body. “We’re going to make it.”

 

 

 

Andrew Prose pushed the door to his fridge closed with his hip, holding the neck of a bottle of wine in one hand and a wine glass in the other. He placed them on the counter next to each other, humming along to the song playing on the radio in the den. He checked the onions he had left sizzling on the stove and tested the pasta in the boiling pot of water next to it. It wasn’t quite done yet, but it was getting there.

Prose glanced up towards the living room when the music suddenly stopped. He set down his spoon on the counter and went to investigate, suspecting the damn cat had chewed through another cord.

“Andrew.”

Prose froze in front of the radio and turned around slowly to find himself eye to eye with John Winchester. He forced a smile, his stomach dropping. “John. I didn’t hear you knock.”

“I didn’t knock,” John snapped, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen and not letting the gun trained on him move from its target.

Prose raised an eyebrow and smiled widely, placing his hands on his hips. He could feel his gun pressing against his ankle, suddenly seeming to weigh a lot more than usual. “What can I do for you?”

“Don’t play dumb, Prose,” John spat, advancing on him, the gun aimed at his chest. “You think I’m going to let you get away with what you did to Sammy?”

“What I did to Sammy?” Prose repeated incredulously. “I gave him a spot on the team because you asked, I gave him some social status at this school, I made his life so much easier. He used to get antagonized for being gay, but when he joined the team, it got better. I helped him, I was good for him.”

“You raped him!” John yelled, his voice hoarse with fury. He was shaking hard, but his aim didn’t falter. “I don’t know what you told him to keep him scared, and I don’t know why I ever thought you were a good man. You’re sick, you fucking disgust me!”

“I disgust you?” Prose snorted. “You disgust me! If he’d felt accepted by you than maybe he would’ve felt like he could tell you! Do you even know why he did this, do you know why he kept it to himself?”

John didn’t reply. He tasted blood where he was biting his lip.

“He did it because he wanted to protect his boyfriend!” Prose growled. “He knew that if his boyfriend’s family found out, they would disown him, if not kill him. You should be proud you have a son with such a good sense of loyalty.” He grinned and added lightly. “Actually, you should be proud you have a son with such a good---“

John pulled the trigger.

Prose didn’t have time to reach for his gun before the bullet hit his shoulder. He was thrown back into the mantle place by the impact.

He groaned and gripped his shoulder, writhing in pain and trying to reach for his gun. A foot came down on his wrist and he looked up to find John looking down at him. He swallowed hard and spat angrily, “What, you’re going to kill me now? You’re going to kill me because your whore of a son hung out in the locker rooms alone, practically begging me to take advantage of him with that gorgeous mouth and—“

He screamed when a bullet went through his knee. John knelt down over him, pressing a knee to his chest and resting a hand over the wound on his shoulder. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to beat you to a pulp and put a few more bullets into you, but I’m not going to allow you to get out of this with something as easy as death.”

He grinned darkly and brought his knee down on the shoulder wound, digging in hard.

 

 

Dean was standing outside Sam hospital room when John returned. He’d dropped by the house to shower and get rid of his bloody clothes and gun before heading back to the hospital. Dean watched him stride down the hallway, arms crossed over his chest and face set. A muscle is Dean’s jaw twitched as John approached. “Is it taken care of?”

John nodded and glanced behind Dean into Sam’s room. Dean shifted himself so he was blocking Sam’s bed from view. “Dean…”

“We have to talk,” Dean said lowly, pulling Sam’s door closed and stepping fully into the hall. “About what I brought up before you left a few months ago.”

John bit the inside of his cheek and leaned against the wall, rubbing his temples tiredly. He could feel a headache coming on. “Dean, I thought I told you…”

“We can’t stay here,” Dean said firmly, cutting John off before he could finish. “Dad, Sam can’t stay here, and Cas can’t stay here. I’m taking them, and we’re leaving. Either you’ll sign the forms, or I’ll find another way.”

“You think wherever you go they’ll let you take care of a sixteen year old on your own?” John snapped. “Dean, you’re only twenty.”

“I can support us,” Dean argued. “I have a savings account, and I’ll find a job. The only thing I need is for you to sign some stupid forms.”

“You really want to get away from me that badly?” John asked softly, trying to keep the hurt from seeping into his tone. “You hate me that much?”

“I love Sam that much,” Dean replied quietly, glancing up to meet John’s gaze seriously. “You’re gone all the time, Dad. We should have done this a long time ago, I do all the paperwork for Sammy anyway, you just sign the dotted line. I need to be able to sign him up for school, I need to be able to get him help, medically and psychologically. You can’t do that, even if we stay here, you’ll be gone for work. Please, Dad. You have to be rational about this.”

John glanced down at the folder in Dean’s hands for a few moments before snatching it and flipping it open. He rubbed his nose and pinched the bridge of his nose, scanning the pages without seeing the words. He still remembered them from when he’d read them a few months ago. He slid the pen out of the folder and signed the first sheet. He could hear Dean let out a low sigh of relief. He flipped through and signed the rest of the forms before closing the folder and holding it out for Dean. “Here.”

Dean reached out and grabbed the folder, tugging it out of his Dad’s strong, reluctant grip and clutching the guardianship forms to his chest tightly, like he was afraid John would snatch them back. “Thank you.”

John nodded shortly and turned back to Sam’s room. “I want to say goodbye.”

Dean nodded, stepping out of his way. John hesitated before turning the doorknob and dug into his pockets. He tossed Dean the Impala’s keys. “Take her.”

He didn’t look back to see Dean’s reaction.

John pushed the door open and stepped inside the hospital room. He wasn’t entirely surprised by Castiel curled up next to Sam on the mattress, looking like he’d been trampled by a wild horse. Sam’s face was pressed into Castiel’s chest, and he was crushing the older boy to him. Castiel ran his fingers through Sam’s thick locks soothingly. He glanced up when John walked in and immediately tense, fear and anger flashing through his eyes. John shook his head and moved to the other side of Sam’s bed. Sam turned onto his side to face his dad and regarded him with trepidation.

“Be careful, okay?” John said softly, pushing Sam’s bangs off his forehead. Sam nodded, biting his bottom lip hard. “Dean…Dean and…and Castiel…they’ll take good care of you, I’m sure. Call me if you need anything, alright?”

“Yeah, Dad,” Sam replied, his voice cracking. He reached out and gripped his dad’s hand tightly for a moment. “I…yeah.”

John nodded and stood up, pressing a kiss to Sam’s forehead. He said softly, before he pulled away, “Love you, son.”

Sam swallowed hard and nodded. “I know. You…you, too.”

John chewed on the inside of his cheek and watched as Dean slipped into the room and helped Castiel into the wheelchair at the end of the bed. He helped Sam remove all the tubes attached to him and steadied him when he stood. Sam was a little faint, but he seemed to be able to walk with some help. Dean gripped the handles of the wheelchair and started out of the room with Sam leaning heavily on his shoulder.

John stood in the window and waited for them to make sure they made it outside without being stopped. Dean opened the passenger’s door and helped Castiel out of the wheelchair and into the front seat. Sam followed him in, and Dean shut the door behind him. Sam immediately sagged against the door and reached out for Castiel, who obliged and shifted to lean back against Sam, resting his head on Sam’s shoulder and curling his fingers into the front of the jacket Dean had draped around Sam’s shoulders. Dean climbed into the driver’s seat and dug around in the backseat for a few moments. He managed to find two of the blankets they had folded up on the floor back there and draped them over Sam and Cas carefully, tucking the corners around them to protect them from the chill of the car. John assumed Sam made some sarcastic comment about it when he saw Dean roll his eyes before starting the car.

John watched the Impala turn out of the parking lot. He watched the tail lights disappear down the dark roadway. He thought of all the things he’d said to Sam, all the arguments they’d had, all the hurtful comments he’d made about his boyfriend; he thought of Prose and all the men like him in the world, men who wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of his youngest’s trusting nature all over again; he thought of the nights he heard Dean soothing Sam after a nightmare; he thought of the weeks he was away and the way Sam or Dean sounded like they were moments away from begging him _to please just come home_ over the phone; he thought of them out there now, alone, without him to protect them and keep them safe.

He had the unbidden thought of how he hadn’t been able to protect them, not this time.

And he found himself doing something he hadn’t done since the night his wife died.

He prayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a review if you have a second! Let me know what you thought of the whole thing, this part, whatever. I'd love to hear what you thought! Thanks.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: mentions of abuse and rape, language, slash

               Sam set the stack of chipped plates down on the table and proceeded to unstack them and put them down on the threadbare placemats. Dean cursed under his breath and hefted the pot of boiling water off the stove before it boiled over, sloshing half of it over the rim and all over the stovetop in the process.

               Sam raised an eyebrow and commented dryly, “Maybe you should have waited for Cas to do this.”

               “I can cook a pot of damn pasta, Sammy,” Dean growled, hissing when the boiling water licked at his fingertips. He managed to pour the pasta into the sink, most of it making it into the strainer he’d placed there earlier. “God knows how many times I’ve done it in your life time.”

               Sam hummed softly in reluctant agreement, setting down the forks and knives next to the plates. He slid into his chair at the table and watched Dean dig through the fridge for tomato sauce. He absentmindedly scratched at one of the faded scars on his arms, lost in thought.

               Dean’s voice broke into his thoughts and he glanced up at his brother, listening more closely to what he was saying.

               “…talk to Dr. Griswold about your nightmares?” Dean asked, dumping the spaghetti into a ceramic bowl.

               “Yeah,” Sam replied slowly, glancing down at his palms. He bit his bottom lip before adding softly, “She prescribed some medication for me.”

               Dean bit the inside of his cheek and set the bowl down in the center of the table. He leaned on the edge of the table and sighed, hunching his shoulders. He’d expected this to happen. Sam had been waking himself up screaming since they’d moved out of Kansas. Dean and Cas took turns trying to calm him down, holding him or, on the bad nights, sitting on the edge of the bed, not touching him, but trying to be there for him. Dean felt like crap with the lack of sleep he’d been getting lately, and Cas didn’t look much better than he felt. Every time Wednesday when he went into the main office to pick Sam up to get to therapy across town on time, the lady in the main office would give him a sympathetic look and asked if Cas was eating enough; Dean wanted to be irritated with her concern, but, honestly, a part of him was relieved that there was someone at that school that looked out for Cas.

               Sam pursed his lips and dug his hand into the pocket of his jeans, feeling around for the slip of paper the doctor had given him. He fished it out and handed it to Dean. “If we can’t afford it, I get it, it’s alright. They’ll go away on their own…”

               “We can afford it,” Dean said tersely, snatching the paper from Sam’s hand and tucking it in his pocket. He’d pick it up after work tomorrow. If he tapped into the cash Dad had sent last month (which he had been determinedly avoiding the use of), he would still have enough for the rent at the end of the month. “Don’t worry about it, Sammy.”

               Sam shrugged and fiddled with the hem of his shirt uncomfortably. He watched Dean place the tomato sauce on the table next to the bowl. The lock turned in the front door and Cas pushed it open, stepping inside and out of the howling wind whipping the snow around outside. He was clutching a stack of envelopes under his thick jacket. He shouldered the door shut behind him and locked it instinctively, letting out a sigh of relief when the warm air of the apartment hit him, making his stiff, freezing fingers tingle. He glanced up and smiled breathlessly at Sam and Dean, “Hi.”

               “Hey,” Sam stood up and moved to take the stack of mail from Cas before it slipped out of his arms. He tucked it under his armpit and reached out to help Cas out of his jacket. Cas smiled at him gratefully and went up on his toes to peck Sam’s cheek, reaching out to pluck one of the letters from under Sam’s arm. “How’s it going?”

               “Fine,” Cas replied, smiling brightly, clutching the letter in his hands tightly. He gripped Sam’s wrist and tugged him to the table, taking the mail from him and discarding it onto the counter without looking at any of it. He pushed the letter into Sam’s hands and took a step back, watching him turn the it over in his hands. Sam glanced up at Cas, confused. Cas sighed, still smiling widely. “Open it!”

               Sam’s gaze fell on the return address and his stomach dropped. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry and his chest tight. “I…this wasn’t supposed to come until next week.”

               Cas exchanged a glance with Dean. Dean inclined his head slightly, turning back to the counter to wash out the pots in the sink. Cas rested a hand on Sam’s hip and curled his fingers loosely around Sam’s waist. He tilted his head back to look up at Sam and gave him a lopsided smile, pleased that Sam didn’t automatically flinch away from his touch. “Just open it, Sam. We’ll take it from there, no matter what happens.”

               Sam pursed his lips and flipped the envelope over. He slid his fingers under the seal and tore the envelope open, his heart in his throat. Cas moved to press himself to Sam’s side, trying to offer some support, to let Sam know that he was there. Sam’s gaze flickered down to meet Cas’s warm blue eyes, and a feeling a warmth spread through his chest. He tugged the thick sheaf of folded papers out of the envelope and suck in a deep breath before unfolding them.

               His gaze flickered over the page without really reading anything until his eyes fell on the words, “…great pleasure in offering you admission to Stanford University’s Class…”

               Cas peered over his shoulder and followed Sam’s gaze, grinning unabashedly as he read the letter. He squeezed Sam’s waist tightly and pressed his face into Sam’s shoulder. He felt Sam’s back relax from the tight knots his muscles had been wound in.

               Sam let out a long breath and clutched the letters so tightly the paper crumpled in his hands. “I can’t believe I got in…”

               “You got in?” Dean whirled around and gaped at Sam, his eyes wide. He smiled and rubbed his hands over his face. He knew Sam was smart, and he’d known Sam had a good chance of getting in to college with his grades, but he’d been worried that with them moving around so much, Sam’s transcripts might not be accepted.

               “Full ride,” Cas added, unable to keep himself from smiling against Sam’s shoulder. Sam felt his mouth curve against the worn flannel of his shirt. “Of course you got in, Sam.”

               Sam dropped the letter and the attached papers onto the table, slightly shocked. Cas watched him with concern, waiting for some sort of reaction. He curled his fingers into the front of Sam’s shirt and tugged at the fabric gently. “Sam?”

               Sam blinked and looked down at Cas for a few moments. Cas’s wide eyes were trained on him with concern, but the corners of his eyes were still slightly crinkled with happiness. His slim fingers tugged hesitantly on Sam’s shirt, asking for his attention, but not demanding it. His hair was a ruffled mess, as usual, sticking up in every direction around his head. Faint scars wrapped around his exposed forearms in thin white circles; Sam traced his fingers over the lines, wondering if they’d been carved there by handcuffs or rope, or whatever else his brother had used to keep him trapped in that house. Cas squeezed his waist again tightly, and Sam’s chest tightened. He was suddenly overwhelmed with the thought of how incredibly lucky he was.

               He had a caring, patient, beautiful boyfriend who wanted nothing more than for him to be happy and safe, and he had an older brother who loved him enough to work his ass off to take care of him and protect him with his life.

               He had nightmares where it felt like large, rough hands were running all over his body, a tongue forcing its way in his mouth, Prose’s gruff voice in his ear, commanding and threatening and humiliating words spilling from his lips. He could feel tears running down his cheeks as he struggled to get away from the unwanted touches, whimpering and begging softly for Prose to stop. Dean or Cas would shake him awake and hold him until he managed to fall asleep again, rubbing his back and muttering comfortingly into his thick, tangled hair to calm him down. He was becoming progressively more and more comfortable with being touched. He wasn’t dirty, and it wasn’t his fault; he’d been instructed to repeat that to himself by his therapist with the promise that someday he’d believe it.

               He hoped she was right.

               “We’re going to California,” Sam glanced between Dean and Cas, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He pulled Cas against his chest and wrapped his arms around his waist, lifting him a few inches off the ground and spinning him around a few times. Cas clutched at his shirt tightly, confusion, fear, and joy mingling on his face. Sam laughed and set Cas down, pressing his lips to the smaller man’s. Cas stumbled back into the table, breathless and caught off guard by Sam’s sudden display of joy and affection. “Cas, we’re going to college.”

               Dean pursed his lips into a smile and watched Sam pick up the letter to reread it, his eyes bright and wide with disbelief, gripping Cas’s hand tightly and pulling him close. Cas laughed a little bit, obviously as elated by Sam’s reaction as Dean felt, and hugged him tightly, grinning against Sam’s collar bone.

               Dean tossed the dishrag into the sink and sucked in a deep breath, letting the tension ease out of his shoulders.

               They were going to be just fine, as long as he had anything to say about it.

                

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is! Let me know what you thought of this, or the whole thing. Review if you've got a minute, I love them:)
> 
> So thanks to everyone who stuck with me on this! I know it was erratic with my posting schedule (or lack thereof), but I hope you still enjoyed it!
> 
> Thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is just kind of a prologue of sorts. Let me know what you think if you have a second! I plan on sticking to an update schedule of once a week or so, but maybe more frequently.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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